Mariano Fortuny Between Morocco and Spain

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School of Arts & Sciences Theses Hunter College

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Localizing Orientalism: Mariano Fortuny between Morocco and Spain

Susie Sofranko CUNY Hunter College

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Localizing Orientalism: Mariano Fortuny between Morocco and Spain

Susie Sofranko

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in Art History, Hunter College The City University of New York

2018

Thesis Sponsor:

December 14, 2018 Tara Zanardi Date Signature

December 14, 2018 Lynda Klich Date Signature of Second Reader

Table of Contents

Dedication ...... ii

Acknowledgments...... iii

List of Illustrations ...... v

Introduction: Fortuny in Between ...... 1

Chapter 1: Fortuny in Morocco, between Spectacle and Sympathy ...... 19

Chapter 2: Fortuny in Spain, between Spanish and Oriental Masculinity ...... 42

Chapter 3: Fortuny in Granada, between Costumbrismo and Orientalismo ...... 61

Conclusion: Fortuny in Legacy, between Then and Now ...... 86

Bibliography ...... 91

Illustrations ...... 95

Dedication

I dedicate this thesis to my grandfather, the late Michael Sofranko, who provided me with a life in which I was able to discover my love for art, history, and, eventually, Fortuny. iii

Acknowledgments

This thesis would not have been possible without the tremendous support of the Art

Department at Hunter College. Throughout my two degrees at Hunter I have benefitted greatly from the resources offered by the Department. I am endlessly grateful to the Kossak family, for the funding that allowed me to first explore Spanish and French Orientalisms in their respective hometowns, as well as to Estrellita Brodsky for sponsoring my final dive into dense collections of Fortuny’s work in Barcelona, Reus, and Madrid—both experiences that molded my perspective and shaped this thesis. To that end, I must thank those that helped me find Fortuny in

Spain: Francesc M. Quílez i Corella, for his enthusiasm for my project from my very first inquiry at the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya; Merce Saura for her assistance in the Museu’s drawing’s cabinet; and Raquel Aparicio Mainar for her time showing me the collection of Museu de Reus and answering clarifying questions thereafter.

I am in the most fortunate position to have surrounding me some of the greatest mentors in and outside of the field of Art History. From the day I decided I wanted to be an art historian to the completion of this graduate thesis, Dr. Lynda Klich has been my guiding force. She provided me with an introduction to my advisor Dr. Tara Zanardi, whose inspiring lectures, thoughtful advisement, and remarkable goodwill made this project possible. I owe the world to

Lynda and Tara for all they have taught me about art historical perspectives, as well as becoming a self-assured scholar amidst the pressures and insecurities that come along with putting original thoughts on paper. Their scholarship in Visual Typologies from the Early Modern to the

Contemporary, for which I was an editorial assistant, inspired my thinking about Fortuny on both the global and local level. I must also thank Libby Collinge, my mentor in my dual life as a fundraiser, for pulling me up by my bootstraps time and time again, as I battled finishing my iv degree while progressing in my career. Finally, I must give credit for all of my success to the incomparable Charlotte Glasser, for her years of advice and friendship beyond my graduation from the Macaulay Honors College. This roster of exceptional women—Lynda, Tara, Libby, and

Charlotte—have provided me with all the tools necessary to complete this thesis and whatever life beyond holds, all the while reminding me to remain humble and laughing along the way.

This thesis is also the product of a major support group of friends and family. My motivating, patient, and inquisitive partner, Joe Motzkin, has been with me in the trenches through every word of this thesis. Hours of conversations about Spain and art with Eliza Edge inspired me throughout my three-year long sojourn. Sneaking away to lunch with Susan Breyer has kept me on track and staying positive even on the darkest days. Last but not least, I thank my incredible family of Sofrankos, Ravenses, Hoyts, Friedmans, and Tammy Moin; but in particular, Sara Sofranko, my sister, for her unconditional love and care; Sharon Sofranko, my mother, for dragging me to museums at a young age; Jim Sofranko, my father, for talking with me about film far before I could comprehend his aesthetic criticisms; and Michael Sofranko, my late grandfather, for providing me with everything I could have ever needed to explore my passions here in New York and around the world. I am indebted to you all.

List of Illustrations

Figure 1. Mariano Fortuny, Self-portrait, ca. 1858. oil on canvas; 62.5 x 49.5 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya.

Figure 2. Francisco Antonio Contreras Muñoz, “Ventana en la sala de las Dos Hermanas, palacio de la Alhambra,” Monumentos Arquitectonicos de España, 1868, gold pigment and red, blue, brown and black gouache ink on vellum paper, 61.6 x 47.7 cm. Madrid, Museo de la Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando.

Figure 3. Mariano Fortuny, Muslim-style decoration, 1860-1862. Watercolor on paper. 15.5 x 17.5cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya.

Figure 4. Mariano Fortuny, Battle of Tetuan, 1863-1865, oil on canvas, 300 x 972 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art d’Catalunya.

Figure 5. Horace Vernet, Capture of the Smala of Abdelkader, May 16, 1843, 1844, oil, 480 x 2130 cm. Paris, Musée de l’Histoire de France.

Figure 6. Mariano Fortuny, An Arabic Man Keeping Watch Over the Dead Body of His Friend, 1866, etching on paper, 44.5 × 61.7 cm. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Figure 7. Mariano Fortuny, Dead Kabyle, ca. 1867 (published 1878), etching on paper, 42.5 × 63 cm. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Figure 8. Mariano Fortuny, A Partly Naked Man on the Ground Right Arm Outstretched, ca. 1860-1870, etching on japan paper, 24.5 × 32.7 cm. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Figure 9. Eugène Delacroix, Death of Sardanapalus Salon, 1827, oil on canvas, 3.92 x 4.96 m. Paris, Musée du Louvre.

Figure 10. Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes, If he is Guilty, Let Him Die Quickly, ca. 1815, published ca. 1859, 11.5 x 8.5 cm. London, British Museum.

Figure 11. Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes, The Custody is as Barbarous as the Crime, ca. 1815, published ca. 1859, etching on paper, 11 x 8.5 cm. London, British Museum.

Figure 12. Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes, The Custody of a Criminal Does Not Call for Torture, ca. 1815; published ca. 1859, etching on paper, 37.78 x 42.33 cm. London, British Museum.

Figure 13. Eugene Fromentin, Land of Thirst, 1869, oil on canvas, 103 x 143 cm. Paris, Musée d'Orsay.

Figure 14. Moliné y Albereda. Fortuny dressed as an Arab, ca. 1860, photograph. Museu de Reus. vi

Figure 15. Mariano Fortuny, African Chief, 1870, oil on canvas, 41 x 32.9 cm. Chicago, Art Institute of Chicago.

Figure 16. Mariano Fortuny, The Carpet Seller, 1870, watercolor with touches of tempera on paper, 59 x 85 cm. Barcelona, Montserrat Museum.

Figure 17. Mariano Fortuny, Arab Leaning against a Tapestry, 1873, oil on canvas, 49 x 75 cm. Doha, National Collection of Qatar.

Figure 18. Ricardo de Madrazo, The Studio of Marià Fortuny in Rome, 1874, oil on canvas, 100 x 75.4 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya.

Figure 19. Jean-Léon Gérôme, The Snake Charmer, 1879, oil on canvas, 82.2 x 121 cm. Williamstown, MA, Clark Art Museum.

Figure 20. Mariano Fortuny, Hindu Snake Charmers, 1869, oil on canvas, 58.74 x 124.46 cm. Baltimore, Walters Art Museum.

Figure 21. Anonymous, Studio of Mariano Fortuny y Marsal, via Flaminia, Rome, 1870, print of albumen paper, 25 x 72 cm. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Figure 22. Mariano Fortuny, Opium Smoker, 1869, watercolor on paper, 38.4 x 49.8 cm. Saint Petersburg, The State Hermitage Museum.

Figure 23. Mariano Fortuny, Saint Andrew (copy after Ribera) ca. 1867, oil on canvas, 80.5 x 65.5 cm. Madrid, Museo del Prado.

Figure 24. Mariano Fortuny, Nude Old Man in the Sun, 1871, oil on canvas, 76 x 60cm. Madrid, Museo del Prado.

Figure 25. Mariano Fortuny, Faithful Friends, 1869, watercolor on paper, 14 x 19 cm. Baltimore, Baltimore Art Museum.

Figure 26. Manuel Wssel de Guimbarda, Costumbrista Scene in the Alcázar of Seville, 1872, oil on canvas, 84 x 63 cm. Madrid, Colección Carmen Thyssen-Bornemisza.

Figure 27. Mariano Fortuny, La Tribunal de la Alhambra, 1871, oil on canvas, 75 x 59 cm. Figueres, Dalí Theatre-Museum.

Figure 28. Mariano Fortuny, Slaying of the Abencerrajes, c. 1871, oil on canvas, 73 x 83 cm. Barcelona, Museu d’Art Modern de Barcelona.

Figure 29. Mariano Fortuny, Arab Musicians, c. 1872, oil on canvas, 61 x 100cm. Venice, Museo Fortuny.

Figure 30. John Frederick Lewis, “Distant view of the Sierra Nevada,” 1836, lithograph, 36.2 x 26.1 cm. In John Frederick Lewis, Sketches of Spain and Spanish Character (London: vii

F.G. Moon and John F. Lewis, 1836). San Francisco, CA, Fine Arts Museums of San Fransisco, Achenbach Foundation for Graphic Arts.

Figure 31. Mariano Fortuny, “Two characters in front of the door of a temple,” Album Fortuny Mariano 5, Folio 25, undated, brown ink, 87 x 113mm. Paris, collection of drawings and miniatures, Musée du Louvre.

Figure 32. Henri Regnault, Execution without Trial under the Moor Kings of Granada, 1870, oil on canvas, 301 x 143 cm. Paris, RMN-Grand Palais (Musée d'Orsay).

Figure 33. Édouard Manet, Dead Toreador, 1864, oil on canvas, 75.9 x 153.3 cm. Washington, D.C., National Gallery of Art.

Figure 34. Mariano Fortuny, Gypsy Girl Dancing in a Garden, c. 1872, oil on canvas, 46 x 56 cm. Private collection.

Figure 35. Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez, The Three Musicians, c. 1618, oil on canvas, 88 x 111cm. Berlin, Gemäldegalerie der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin.

Figure 36. Mariano Fortuny, La Vicaria, 1868-1870, oil on board, 60.5 x 94.5 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya.

Figure 37. Mariano Fortuny, “Fan with scene of gallantry,” 1870, gouache on parchment and mother-of-pearl sticks, 27 x 51 cm (open). Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya 1

Introduction: Fortuny in Between

Nothing had a greater impact on the life and work of Catalan artist Mariano Fortuny y

Carbral (1837-1874) than traversing the Strait of Gibraltar to Morocco. In late 1859, the

Barcelona Diputació sent Fortuny on a state commission to gather studies to document the

Hispano-Moroccan War (1859-1860) for the purpose of creating a grand scale painting to be hung in the Parliament House. The Diputació’s intention for a painting of this war, which was later titled after one of its key conflicts, the Battle of Tetuan, was to heroicize the Spanish— particularly General Juan Prim and the Catalan military volunteers—and celebrate their hopeful victory on a mural-sized canvas that could fit the monumentality of the event’s landscape. Along with those also sent to document the war was writer Charles Yriarte, who described the enthusiasm of the twenty-three-year-old artist:

Always armed with a large portfolio, he sketched with marvelous dexterity everything he saw, for everything interested him…He was always in the streets, the camps, the marts— in short, everywhere where he could study oriental life. He was indefatigable in collecting the materials which enabled him the following year to paint his first important pictures. 1

Rather than concerning himself with the subjects that would inform his official commission, it was “the strange and the picturesque” that captivated Fortuny. Yriarte concludes, “The sky,

Nature, and the atmosphere, interested him more than the war.”2 The intimacy with which

1 Charles Yriarte, “Fortuny.” The Art Journal (1875-1887), Vol. 1, (1875): 235-236.

2 Ibid., 236.

Fortuny approached Moroccan subjects in 1859 and 1860 developed into a lifelong dedication to producing paintings, drawings, and etchings of an Orientalist nature.

This thesis explores the very works that arose out of Fortuny’s introduction to Spain’s

African neighbor to the south. Its three chapters trace the trajectory of Fortuny’s artistic practice from his initial contact with Morocco, subsequent rise to international fame, and final years spent in Granada. Through each stage in his life, the Moroccan subject remained a central inspiration to Fortuny’s art making. In 1866 Fortuny returned the money for the commission of the Battle of

Tetuan to the Barcelona Diputació and asked to be discharged from their agreement, leaving the canvas in his studio in its existing unfinished state until his untimely death in 1874. Fortuny abandoned the large canvas perhaps due to his financial success from meeting French dealer

Adolphe Goupil (1806–1893) in the years after the war. Lissie Champney, however, asserts that it may have been because “Fortuny had no sympathy for battle-painting…he devoted himself to this great picture because it was a commission that he was not in a position to decline; but he found his favorite subjects in the ordinary, peaceful life of the Moor, and had a strong aversion for bloodshed and horror, either in Nature or Art.”3 My assessment thus encompasses the entire lifecycle of Fortuny’s Orientalism, from the artist’s early works during the war to those produced at the peak of his career.

Key to the chronological discussions of this thesis is understanding Fortuny’s shifting identity defined by his paripatetic life. The artist’s deeply personal connection to Morocco, initiated by the happenstance of the commission to follow the war (see Chapter 1) and emboldened by trending markets for the Islamic arts within the bourgeoisie (see Chapter 2), also

3 Lissie Champney, “In the Footsteps of Fortuny and Regnault,” The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine 23, no. 1, edited by J.G. Holland (The Century Co.: New York, November 1881-April 1882): 27. 3 echoed the depth and complexity of Spain’s historical and contemporary relationship with

Morocco (see Chapter 3). Thus, Fortuny’s identity and performance thereof, as related to both his individuality and collective Spanishness, are the perspectives threaded throughout this thesis, tying the experiences and expressions of the artist-traveler to greater political, national, and international implications. I explore the “cultural contact” between Fortuny and Morocco in the terms of Mary D. Sheriff, “as a set of dynamic, varied, and continuous processes that have been essential to forming the arts we call European.”4

To address Fortuny as an Orientalist, this thesis must confront the genre by subjecting it to the specificities of a Spanish context, inheriting both Edward Said’s call to address the problematics of the genre, and Linda Nochlin’s assertion of its importance as an area of continued study and interrogation. Activating the work of scholars of global art history, such as

Sheriff and Tara Zanardi, and theorists of performance in nineteenth-century Spanish history, such as Lou Charnon-Deutsch and Susan Martin-Márquez, this thesis uses Fortuny’s Orientalist works to explore identity politics of a nation caught geographically, temporally, politically, and imperially in between generalized notions of Europeanness and, its contrary, Orientalness. By doing so, this thesis enters the conversation of those on the frontline of the burgeoning discourse of Spanish Orientalism, the study of Spanish responses to Spain’s Muslim heritage. The varied and diverse scholarship of Oscar E. Vázquez, Luis Fernández Cifuentes, Lara Eggleton, and José

Luis Venegas demonstrates the ambiguities of the topic they are working to define.5 The purpose

4 Mary Sheriff, “Introduction,” Cultural Contact and the Making of European Art since the Age of Exploration (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012), 2.

5 Spanish Orientalism was the subject of a panel in 2016 titled “Orientalism and Spain in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries” in Edinburgh that resulted in the publication of Anna McSweeney & Claudia Hopkins, “Spain and Orientalism,” Art in Translation 9, no. 1 (2017). 4 of this thesis is to use Fortuny as a case study to deconstruct the monolithic rigidity of the definition of Orientalism, nuancing its broadness by looking at local identity in a global context.

I posit that while Fortuny’s Orientalism succeeded brilliantly in participating in Western trends of the day—his works were highly desired by top collectors across Europe and the United

States—it is neither fruitful, nor possible, to analyze fully his works without considering the implications of what it meant to be a Spaniard working with ‘Oriental’ subject matter in the

1860s and 70s. Taking into account Spain’s complicated and multi-faceted heritage, including its

Muslim past, I consider Fortuny’s work as a nineteenth-century meditation on Spanishness.

My interest in Fortuny began in 2015 when I casually passed by an etching on the wall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s drawings gallery. I was later told by a staff member of the

Drawings Department that I was the first in years that she could remember to inquire about

Fortuny’s etchings, of which the Met has several. With the exception of some of the recent scholarship I reference throughout this thesis, Fortuny rarely has been remembered or studied outside of Spain for close to a century. Major encyclopedic museums, like the Metropolitan

Museum of Art, Musée du Louvre, National Gallery of Art (in D.C. and London), and the Art

Institute of Chicago collected Fortuny in the decades surrounding the turn of the twentieth century, but shortly thereafter discontinued their acquisitions. The works they possess primarily remain off view.

The artist’s commercial success and international reach during his lifetime, however, was remarkable. Assisted by the sale of his painting La Vicaria (1870) for 70,000 francs to Adèle de

Cassin, as one of the most expensive paintings ever sold at the time, Fortuny eventually obtained direct access to art enthusiasts from across Europe and the United States. An 1875 article in the

New York Times on the posthumous opening of Fortuny’s studio in Rome to the public stated that 5 at the moment of his death, “The artist was overwhelmed with patronage, and had enough commissions to occupy his time for many years to come.”6 Other collectors of Fortuny around the time of his death and in the years following included major names in the international art circuit such as Junius Spencer Morgan, Archer Huntington, Samuel Isham, Howard Mansfield,

Samuel Putnam Avery, and, his primary patron, the Philadelphian sugar tycoon William Hood

Stewart, all of whom added his work to their collections alongside artists such as Jean-François

Millet and James Abbott McNeill Whistler. Collectors desired works of all media by Fortuny due to his contract with and sanctioning by Goupil. From a formal standpoint, it was the Oriental subject matter and notably exceptional, experimental qualities of Fortuny’s works that attracted a broad international audience.

Not only was there a demand for Fortuny’s work in the market, but artists across Europe imitated his painting style, known as preciosismo. Lending particularly well to the rococo genre scenes of Fortuny’s paintings, the precise but loosely dabbled preciosista strokes delicately captured the effects of light. The visual mode of painting like Fortuny became known as

Fortunyism, the popularity of which continued to rise even in the years following the artist’s death in 1874 before sharply falling out of favor towards the latter half of the 1800s.

Despite the decline of Fortunyism over the course of the twentieth century, Fortuny’s

Spanish and Catalan identities have proven essential to the longevity of his reputation. In Spain today, it is not unusual for museums to highlight Fortuny in an entire dedicated gallery. In

Barcelona and Reus, the artist’s birthplace, his work is hailed as a source of immense pride and

Fortuny as a national hero. I question whether for most decades of the twentieth century non-

6 "Fortuny’s Studio in Rome," The New York Times, May 2, 1875.

Spanish curators were unable to place Fortuny in the Western canon of art. Some Fortuny scholars have blamed the competing prominence of the French Impressionists who were his contemporaries. Though perhaps for Fortuny’s categorization an Orientalist, art historians cast aside his work and considered it no longer important to study due to their timid tiptoeing around ethical boundaries of postcolonial theory. Especially for those scholars following Saidian thought on the problematics of the Orientalist genre, certain issues with Fortuny’s work arise that have been crucial for my investigation: How does one treat a Spaniard’s etchings of dead Moroccan men who were killed by Spanish troops in 1859 (see Chapter 1)? How does one deal with issues of ownership and identity when looking at paintings of a Spanish artist’s Islamic decorative art collection in light of recent discourse on restitution (see Chapter 2)? How does one place paintings of stereotyped Oriental figures in the canon of Western art that may pose difficult questions for scholars, but are still worthy of study (see Chapter 3)? These chapters strive to localize and historicize Fortuny’s works in order to re-open the dialogue on an artist whose works prove insurmountably significant to the identity and culture of the Spanish nation and its modernity in the mid-nineteenth century.

Every scholar of Orientalism must begin with Said, the pioneer of colonial studies who has inspired countless historians since his 1978 publication of Orientalism. My argument draws its focus from the Introduction, in which Said states bluntly: “Britain and France dominated the

Eastern Mediterranean from about the end of the seventeenth century on. Yet my discussion of that domination and systematic interest does not do justice to…important contributions to

Orientalism of Germany, Italy, Spain, and Portugal.”7 It is with this point that Said himself indicates a major shortcoming of his masterpiece, which has been a concern for critics for

7 Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 2003), 25. 7 decades since its publication. Orientalism, is, in fact, a book about British and French colonization as perpetuated by visual regimes that were directed by specific national taste. What is unfortunate is that due to the wild success of the publication, the Saidian genre of British and

French Orientalism has become synonymous with European Orientalism, and Orientalism itself.

Said’s groundbreaking text on the dominating power of European imagery of Eastern subjects is thus a pigeon-holed categorization of a vast cache of images and, in turn, a propagation of an

Anglo-Franco-centric power structure to which the visual arts of countries viewed as peripheral to France and Britain have been subjected.

Countless scholars have reworked Said’s definition of Orientalism to take on a more pluralistic approach. While a comprehensive historiography on the redefinitions of Orientalism since Said could be a lifelong pursuit, I avoid straying too far off course by jumping ahead to

Ussama Makdisi who in 2002 declared that “every nation creates its own Orient.”8 The Ottomans that Makdisi focuses on represented their own Arab periphery to engage simultaneously with and reject the Western notion of the Ottoman empire as one incapable of progress. Makdisi constructs the theoretical framework of his essay by defining “Ottoman Orientalism” as attitudes produced by the acknowledgment of the West as the home of progress and the East as the theater of backwardness. Makdisi concludes that there was a fundamental shift in the nineteenth-century

Ottoman Empire away from this imperial paradigm due to nationalist modernization rooted in a discourse of progress. An advanced imperial center thereafter worked to reform the multi-ethnic and multi-religious empire, a project that was in itself both a resistance to Western colonialism and the result of Western Orientalism.

8 Ussama Makdisi, "Ottoman Orientalism," The American Historical Review 107, no. 3 (2002): 768. 8

This thesis follows Makdisi’s insistence that in the nineteenth century an alternative

Orientalism could not exist entirely separate from European Orientalism (in the Saidian definition of the term). Major aesthetic trends in Britain and France that looked to the ‘East’ for source material undoubtedly infiltrated artistic circles globally. Technological advancements across Europe and the East led to the widespread proliferation of images, resulting in cultural exchange at rates more rapid than ever before. Increased opportunities for travel led to the morphing identities of individuals like Fortuny, who, having lived in Rome, Paris, and different regions across Spain, was no longer singularly defined by his Catalonian birthplace, but considered himself international and transcultural. As is discussed in each chapter, the modern market for art commodified images of the Orient, be it those of the spectacle of war (see Chapter

1), carte-de-visite photographs of masquerade (see Chapter 2), or romantic views of Andalusia generated for tourists (see Chapter 3).

This thesis continues in the lineage of scholars working to deconstruct the Saidian genre of Orientalism by considering the matrix of influences within which the very localities and specificities of identity play out. Rather than considering Orientalism as unidirectional, i.e. how

Spain looked at the Orient, I consider the multiplicities of directions from which the web of

Spanish Orientalism was spun. Spain, very much a place in-between, emerges as an ideal case study, wherein looking at the Other was in many ways looking at oneself, all the while greater

Europe looked to it as the Other.9 Throughout this thesis I ground Fortuny’s paintings within the liminal space of cultural constructs, contending with the desire both to satisfy and to transcend

9 See Ignacio Tofiño-Quesada, “Spanish Orientalism: Uses of the Past in Spain's Colonization in Africa,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 23, no. 1-2 (2003): 143. 9

European trends by establishing a unique Spanish identity that was modern, international, and catered to growing bourgeois taste but nevertheless rooted in its Islamic past.

Despite the Anglo-Franco-centric limitations of Orientalism, Said introduces several concepts that have proven central to the evolution of the discourse on the genre. One point in particular that will remain key throughout this thesis is Said’s description of Orientalism as analogous to the theater.10 He creates the notion of the Orientalist stage, which posits that figures of an Orientalist vocabulary “are to the actual Orient…as stylized costumes are to characters in a play,” thus creating a “theatrical stage whose audience, manager, and actors are all for Europe, and only for Europe” (emphasis in original).11 Several scholars, such as Martin-Márquez,

Charnon-Deutsch, and Akiko Tsuchiya have appropriated Said’s notions of performance and theatricality within the Orientalist genre to the great advantage of scholarship on Spanish national identity, to which I owe many of my own ideas.

Performance was engrained in Fortuny’s upbringing. Raised in Reus by his grandfather

Mariano Fortuny Baró, a cabinetmaker and puppeteer, Fortuny helped manufacture and manage a small traveling theater of marionettes. The experience with the marionettes was formative for

Fortuny as an artist, for, according to Champney, “His first essays with the brush were the tinting with carmine the waxen cheeks of some puppet heroine, or the nose of a Punch.”12 For

Fortuny’s artistic practices to have evolved out of the creation of puppets and dolls, it comes as no surprise that theatricality remained foundational to his work for the remainder of his life. At age nine, Fortuny was already keeping a sketchbook of drawings of imagined costumes and

10 Said, Orientalism, 71, 67.

11 Ibid., 71-72.

12 Champney, “In the Footsteps of Fortuny and Regnault,”, 22. 10 locales comprised of “turbaned Turkish heads …with camels and Moors, copied probably from the pages of his geography.”13 Carlos Reyero mentions that one of Fortuny’s first paintings in

Rome was a self-portrait in which he painted himself dressed in wardrobe clothes, as a theatrical actor (Figure 1).14 Having artistic roots in the theater informed Fortuny’s themes in his pictures thereafter, such as the watercolor The Masquerade (1868), as well as his masterpiece, La

Vicaria, a dramatized scene of characters in exuberant costumes that will be further explored in

Chapter 3. For Fortuny, the Orientalist stage was in many ways an ideal site for the exploration of the theatricality that was at the heart of his practice.

The performance of identity is the lens through which Martin-Márquez, a literary historian, uses the work of Fortuny as an example of the “disorientation” Spaniards experienced in the context of colonialism in Africa from the nineteenth through the mid-twentieth century. By adapting Martin-Márquez’s consideration of the Spanish nation as a construction, I approach the artistic genre of Orientalism not only as a performance of individuality but also as one in relation to the identity of the place in which it was conceived and altered.15 As a border nation between

Western Europe—with Britain across its north shore, and separated from France only by the

Pyrenees mountain range they share and Africa, with Morocco a mere nine miles from its southern shore—Spain very much embodies a space in-between. As a result, Spain, in the

13 Ibid., 23-24.

14 All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. Carlos Reyero, Fortuny, o, el arte como distinció n de clase (Madrid: Cuadernos Arte Cátedra, 2017), 75.

15 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations: Spanish Colonialism in Africa and the Performance of Identity (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014), 6. 11 nineteenth century, was a place Martin-Marquez aptly categorizes as “both Orientalized and

Orientalizing.”16

Because of Spain’s positioning on both sides of the Orient, the performance and representation of exoticism in relation to gender has also proven an important lens, provided by

Said, under which to scrutinize Orientalism. Fortuny depicted very few women, but as a male artist who rose socially over the course of this lifetime, interpretations of masculinity as related to his bourgeois life permeate his work. I specifically explore tropes of masculinity by looking to

Fortuny’s focus on the depiction of Moroccan men, in scenes of war (see Chapter 1), in relation to portraits of the self (see Chapter 2), and as generalized types (see Chapter 3). In so doing, I reconsider Said’s gendering of the Orient as female, dominated and controlled by a male Europe.

The case of Fortuny allows me to deconstruct designated characterizations of gender on both sides of the Orient-Occident axis and adopt Charnon-Deutsch’s assessment of a Spanish exoticism as being distinctly sexual, and less so political. This thesis considers exoticism as

Charnon-Deutsch does as “a psychological mediation that plays a role both in international identity politics and in national sexual identity politics that determine gender roles at the level of the individual family.”17 Departing from the masculine and feminine binary on which Charnon-

Deutsch relies, the following chapters offer a more nuanced approach to exoticism by looking at representations of masculinity in Fortuny’s work. The performance theories of Martin-Márquez,

Charnon-Deutsch, and others help form an understanding of the more fluid, and thus distinctly modern, Spanish masculine identity that Fortuny embodied.

16 Ibid., 9.

17 Lou Charnon-Deutsch, Fictions of the Feminine in the Nineteenth-century Spanish Press (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000), 179. 12

Fortuny’s short life witnessed drastic changes in Spain and Europe, with his birth and death perfectly bookending the middle of the nineteenth century. Tsuchiya has noted that while industrialization and capitalism grew in Spain, it did so marginally later than in some of the

Northern European nations, like France and Britain. Moreover, as those nations were expanding their colonial reach across the globe, Spain took significant losses to its territories in the New

World. Thus, as the modernity of the Spanish nation advanced over the course of the century, so did “anxieties over imperial loss and its sense of belated progress” in relation to its Northern neighbors.18

One demonstration of the anxieties present in nineteenth-century Spain is the unfolding of the Hispano-Moroccan War of 1859-1860, through which Fortuny was first introduced to the

North African country that captured his heart and catapulted him to a successful career. An unexpected attack in August 1859 by the Moroccans on Ceuta, the Spanish city bordering

Morocco on the African continent, instigated the Spanish government to seek compensation. Yet after the death of the Moroccan Sultan Abderrahman in October 1859, and receiving no response from his son and successor Sidi Mohamed, Spain declared war.19 The conflict is often described

18 Akiko Tsuchiya, Marginal Subjects: Gender and Deviance in Nineteenth Century Spain (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2017), 5.

19 When the Spanish navy arrived at the port of Tetuan, the Moroccan army was inadequately armed, leaving local contingents from nearby tribes to take on the battle. By February 1860 the Spanish troops occupied Tetuan, and, though stricken by cholera and hoping for a peace agreement, marched on to Tangier. After a small victory for the Spanish in April, the British intervened and demanded a peace agreement that included the debt of 100 million pesetas to the Spanish government, half to be paid all at once, and half to be paid over a long-term period, which would be borrowed from the British government, the greatest creditor of the Middle Eastern states. The treaty also gave Spain commercial privileges, contributing to the domino effect of increased European intervention in the markets of North African and Muslim states of the Mediterranean, bringing their local economies under the control of European bankers and traders. The Spanish evacuated Tetuan in May 1862, leaving the behind a “hatred of Spaniards” among the other aforementioned conditions. C. R. Pennell, Morocco since 1830: a history (New York: New York University Press, 2000), 68. 13 by historians as “a border squabble blown up into a war,” and an attempt for Spain to reestablish its imperial status.20 While it generated little in terms of material or territorial gains, the short- lived conflict was, as Martin-Marquéz has written, “successful in boosting national spirits among

Spaniards, who felt confident that their country had regained a position of respect alongside other European powers,” and in itself a demonstration of the uneasiness felt toward the country’s ranking in the colonial world.21

Chapter 1 begins with Fortuny’s introduction to the Oriental subject matter through the firsthand experience of the atrocities of the Hispano-Moroccan War. The Barcelona Diputació sent the young artist, along with the Catalan military volunteers, to Morocco to collect studies for a grand battle scene that would satisfy the government’s agenda of elevating patriotism. In addition, this assignment replaced the history painting he was required to complete as part of a scholarship he had to study in Rome. To collect material for the Battle of Tetuan, as it came to be called, Fortuny familiarized himself just as much with the Moroccans on the streets as those on the battlefield. At the crossroads of Fortuny’s drawings of Moroccan street life and the Battle of

Tetuan commission are the artist’s representations of the Moroccan soldier, the symbol of

Spain’s point of contact with the Oriental world and subject of Fortuny’s work that facilitated his interest in Orientalism. Coinciding aspects of spectacle and sympathy within Fortuny’s depictions of the soldier are suggestive of Spain’s national wrestling to colonize the Moroccan enemy, and of the artist’s personal connection to his subjects as a witness to the war, which in turn parallel the embracing of Spain’s shared history with its southern neighbors.

20 Ibid., 64.

21 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 54. 14

Simultaneous to the attempts to dominate Spain’s African neighbor was what Martin-

Márquez calls the “’second wave’ of nation-building,” in which the desire to integrate Spain’s

“African legacy” was integral.22 Starting in the eighteenth century, the rise of this Spanish

Arabism led to “the gradual spread of innovative views on Spain’s past from elite circles to a broader audience, through print media and other cultural venues and forms.”23 One such example was the Real Academia de San Fernando’s creation of the Antigüedades Árabes de España (1787 and 1804), a folio of engraved architectural renderings of the Alhambra and the Mezquita-

Catedral in Córdoba, that, via an institutionalized process, inserted the Islamic monuments of Al-

Andalus into the discourse of Spanish nation-building. Because the projects of the Real

Academia de San Fernando were often “associated with the propagation of traditional views of

Spanish national identity,” the embedding of Spain’s Moorish architecture into representations of nationally historical grandeur was a telling motion toward inclusiveness that proved central to the development of Orientalism into the nineteenth century.24

Following Antigüedades, which focused primarily on architectural plans, the Real

Academia de San Fernando developed its sister publication, Monumentos Arquitectonicos de

España, between 1849 and 1882, which aimed to encompass the monuments of all periods and

“corresponded more to a treaty of ornamentation than to a true architectural study,” as Antonio

Almagro Gorbea has noted.25 The preparatory drawing “Ventana en la sala de las Dos

22 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 12.

23 Ibid.

24 Ibid., 19.

25 Antonio Almagro Gorbea, "Las antigüedades árabes en la Real Academia de San Fernando," in El legado de al-Ándalus: las antigü edades á rabes en los dibujos de la Academia, 15

Hermanas, palacio de la Alhambra,” by Francisco Antonio Contreras Muñoz in 1868 (Figure 2), displays the elaborate representation of dazzling color present in the tilework of the Alhambra and the intense devotion to ornamentation, which was a concern also seen in Fortuny’s sketches of the palace (Figure 3) created when he was living in Granada and fervently acquiring decorative Islamic objects. I situate this shifting focus away from architectural plans and toward the colorful and ornamental aspects of Islamic monuments within the greater commercial demand of the Spanish and foreign bourgeoisie for the material cultural of Spain’s Islamic legacy.

Chapter 2 looks at Fortuny, the bourgeois Spaniard. Due to enduring regionalism across

Spain, Fortuny’s being from Catalonia and spending most of his short life traversing Europe put distance between his ‘Northern’ identity and that of a more Orientalized Andalusia. Yet by having a European-aligned lifestyle, Fortuny was intellectually aware of international aesthetic conversations in which interest in the Islamic artifacts of Spain’s South was a part. His collecting of Islamic vases, textiles, weapons, and tiles, and representation of these objects in his drawings, watercolors, and paintings, envisioned a version of Spain in which its Moorish past was prominent. In these works, Fortuny paired the decorative elements of Spain’s history with images of Moroccan men. I confront this choice to reconsider the figure of the Oriental man outside of the usual tropes of the Orientalist genre, in which figures are often assessed for their negative, stereotyped qualities such as animalistic barbarity or lack of refinement and industriousness. Rather, building the Spanish-Moroccan duality nuances how the decorative elements in Fortuny Orientalist pictures enforced masculine notions of identity. Fortuny’s

ed. Antonio Almagro Gorbea (Madrid: Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando y la Fundación MAPFRE, 2015), 28-29. 16 collecting habits and interest in masquerading as a Moroccan culminate in Arab Leaning against a Tapestry (1873), a painting of an Arab soldier surrounded by decorative objects. I argue it doubles as a self-portrait, a performance of the artist that at once asserts Spain’s possession over the riches afforded by its connection to Arab world, and exudes the class and sophistication of the sitter capable of acquiring such a collection. The same masculine attributes of the self- portrait subsequently imbue his Orientalist pictures of older men on the streets of Morocco, helping to disassociate the typical tropes of Orientalism as images of the ‘decay’ of the Orient.

Fortuny’s images of elderly men enter the lineage of saintly portraits by Spanish artists, and, with their connection to the decorative splendor of Spain’s Islamic past, serve as emblems of the refined culture that was key to the elevation of the nation’s status during a time of instability over the course of the century.

The volatility of politics in Spain in the middle of the nineteenth century had much to do with strong conflicting views of Spanishness across the nation. Conservative traditionalists aligned with the preservation of the powers of the monarchy and the church opposed the liberal left who sought to elevate the popular classes of Spain as an attempt to disassociate with all things French after the Napoleonic invasion earlier in the century. Jesús Torrecilla aptly summarizes the opposition of the second group:

If French culture occupied a central position all over Europe, Spanish culture ought to be found at the margins; if France monopolized the concept of high culture, Spain should be associated with popular culture; if France meant sophistication, Spain should mean simplicity and roughness; if France was civilized, Spain primitive; if France logical, Spain passionate.26

26 Jesús Torrecilla, "Spanish Identity: Nation, Myth, and History," in Studies in 20th & 21st Century Literature 33, no. 2 (2009), 11. 17

Torrecilla urges his readers not to confuse this form of liberal nationalism with the traditionalism of the conservatives from the centuries prior that was closely affiliated with fervent Catholicism and justification of the Reconquest. Instead, he suggests that “both [nationalism and traditionalism] coexisted in the nineteenth century and both worked against the modernization of the country.”27 Vital to the building of a nineteenth-century liberal nationalism was the embracing of certain traits to establish a strong image of a unified Spain, including those that were stereotyping or far from the truth. Central and Northern Spain (the latter of Fortuny’s

Catalonian upbringing) were in many ways synonymous with Madrid, and thus aligned with the greater European continent. Andalusia, however, came to characterize the international image of

Spain, for its romantic qualities set it apart from those Northern cities that appeared to outsiders as more European. Thus, just as Spain Orientalized Andalusia, the rest of Europe ‘Andalusized’ the entire nation of Spain. Literature, particularly travel literature of British and French tourists in the early to mid-part of the century, had proven significantly impactful in the construction of the singular image of a so-called ‘true’ Spain. Foreigners consumed the Orient in Spain “à la carte,” for as Ignacio Tofiño-Quesada describes, the ‘Andalusized’ nation was “exotic enough to be interesting, but not so different as to be considered completely alien.”28

In Chapter 3, I explore Fortuny’s representations of Andalusia, considering the in- between space the region embodied as an image of Spain, and thus the nationalist purpose it served. Looking at three paintings of historical Moors that Fortuny staged within the Alhambra of his present—his family moved nearby in 1869—wavering conflations of time and place speak to the ambiguities of the Spanish nation and its use of its Islamic past. While his paintings are

27 Ibid.

28 Tofiño-Quesada, “Spanish Orientalism,” 143. 18 about historical subjects, I argue that local costumbrista imagery of Andalusian ‘types’ permeate images of the Moors, creating an ambiguous visuality on par with the multifaceted identity of the region represented.

This thesis argues that Fortuny’s Orientalism embodied a very complex web of identity formation, both on the individual level—specifically the bourgeois class of which Fortuny was a part—and with regard to the greater nation. To conclude, I consider Fortuny’s legacy. Despite the widespread fame obtained by the artist at the time of this death, the vogue for Fortuny’s work quickly ended due to the affiliation of his style and subject matter with the frivolity of the feminine sphere. My research reveals that dominant notions of national identity and masculinity in Fortuny’s work have been long overlooked. The chapters of this thesis demonstrate that those traits deemed feminine and less worthy of serious study are the very ones that during Fortuny’s lifetime so marvelously illustrated the ambiguities of Spanish modernity.

Chapter 1: Fortuny in Morocco, between Spectacle and Sympathy

“Morocco found Fortuny. She could well afford to pardon a whole army of enemies that brought her one such lover.”29

-Lissie Champney in the Century Illustrated

Monthly Magazine of 1881-1882

Rounding the corner to enter the gallery of Orientalist art at the Museu Nacional d’Art de

Catalunya, visitors today are immediately drawn to the magnificence of what the room just beyond holds. Illuminated by intensified track lighting, a canvas that takes up the entire dark blue-gray wall, stretching nearly ten meters wide and over three high, is a marvel far more catching to the eye than the medium-to-small pictures in the Orientalist gallery. Standing before the painting and walking from one end to the next provides a panoramic experience of immense impact. Encountering Fortuny’s Battle of Tetuan (Figure 4) today is not unlike how Champney describes it in 1881, when the canvas was still in its original location:

Passing today up the cool marble staircase of the Parliament House of Barcelona, and into the rich but shadowy Chamber of Deputies, one stands before this grand canvas, which starts into brightness as the janitor opens the blinds. We are dazzled at first; the coloring, though very delicate, palpitates in the clear atmosphere. The picture is full of movement, of flying figures and draperies, of scintillating sabers, and cuprous clouds of battle-smoke. We must wait a moment, as before nature, for our eyes to become accustomed to the light, and for the different groups to outline themselves distinctly before us. The artist has chosen the moment when the Spanish army is swarming over the ramparts into the Moorish camp, and our point of view is from the inside. The whole foreground is filled with the retreating African soldiery. The center group shows Muley Abbas and a party of Arab horseman dashing toward us out of the picture. The horses,

29 Lissie Champney, “In the Footsteps of Fortuny and Regnault,” The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine (November 1881-April 1882), 24.

slender and finely made, share in the excitement of their riders, and press forward without the guidance of the Moors, some of whom are firing back as they flee. The tawny sand- dust, the blue smoke from the long guns, the floating scarfs and gauze turbans of light green, sulphur-yellow, rose, and lilac, make a nimbus of delicate prismatic tints, the color focus of the picture. At the right, Arabs are bearing away a wounded chief, who supports himself with his elbow upon his little, and gazes sadly back at the lost day. His quiet dignity contrasts with the fright and frantic jostling of the herd of men, camels, buffaloes, and goats that hurry by in an almost indistinguishable mêlée. On the left the sun strikes brightest on a little angle of ruined wall, on figures in mortal agony, and on the face of a dead man lying at the door of his overturned tent. The middle distance is dim with smoke. In the background the Spanish soldiers press forward with O’Donnell, while Prim, dashing through a gap in the wall, sabering a black who is about to plunge a dagger into his horse, is conspicuous for his magnificent action.30

With this passage, Champney walks her readers through Fortuny’s grand Battle of

Tetuan. Her description points to two important characteristics of the work. First, from a formal standpoint, Champney notes how the painting dazzles due to its “prismatic” coloring, energetic brushstrokes that cloud the specificities of the action, and starkly contrasted rendering of sunlight casting over the scene highlighting some of the most horrific details. These qualities, in addition to the sheer scale of the painting, are what make looking at the Battle of Tetuan a fully immersive, awe-inducing experience. Second, Champney blatantly states that the artist’s point of view is “from inside,” which is unequivocally empathetic to the perspective of the Moroccan soldier, an observation scholars such as Susan Martin-Márquez and Jordi Carbonell have since affirmed.31 Champney’s statement that the chief “gazes sadly back at the lost day,” and mention of “figures in mortal agony” overshadows her final sentence, in which she just briefly highlights the bravery of General Prim. Champney’s focus on the experience of the Moroccan echoes, in

30 Ibid., 24-26.

31 Jordi À. Carbonell, “El gran cuadro,” La Batalla De Tetuá n De Fortuny (Barcelona: Museu Nacional D’Art De Catalunya, 2013), 197 (English translation provided). See also Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 130, 122. 21 the literal and figurative sense, the foregrounding of the trauma of the Moroccans over the triumph of the Spanish, which Fortuny relegated to the background. Champney’s analysis expresses the paradoxical nature of the painting, one that is graphic but sensitive, horrifying but striking.

This chapter explores the overlapping sensations of spectacle and sympathy that exist in

Fortuny’s representations of the Hispano-Moroccan War. The Battle of Tetuan participated in the industry of mainstream visual media that catered to the desires of the burgeoning bourgeois class for the entertainment of sensational imagery. Guiding my interpretation is the panorama effect of

Fortuny’s large-scale canvas that both participates in and confronts “dominant structures of vision and power within the colonial context,” as discussed in great detail by Susan Martin-

Márquez.32 To assess the artist’s more intimately scaled war imagery, this chapter shifts focus to three etchings that developed out of motifs from the Battle of Tetuan. The etchings introduce the complexities of objects of sympathy and spectacle that, unlike the large canvas, traveled under the impetus of demand by collectors for works by an artist who rose into the spotlight in the years after the war. The influence of France and the international art market is inseparable from

Fortuny’s art making, but there is also tension in the commodification of the objects, having entered into the art circuit, and their sensitive, political subject matter. The emotiveness of his works not only was driven by growing taste for expressivity in painting but also participated in the notion of an Orientalist sublime, a term introduced by Marc Gottlieb, which I both activate and confront later in this chapter. The duality of spectacle and sympathy within the Battle of

Tetuan painting, and the etchings that emerged as a result, thus demonstrate larger themes of

32 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 123. 22 ambiguity within discourses on national identity that informed Fortuny’s later Orientalist pictures.

Central to understanding Fortuny’s depictions of the Hispano-Moroccan War is evaluating how they participated in rapid and significant change in media production and circulation that marked the mid-nineteenth century. Conflicts of the 1850s and 1860s, the

American Civil War being one notable example, brought an onslaught of images of violence and devastation for the first time to the masses. Battlefield carnage, captured by the popular media of photography and prints, found new audiences because of this democratization of art. The sense of realness that these visual formats instilled marked a shift away from the romanticization, dramatization, or glorification of war, replacing them with an emotionally evocative portrayal of the deeply personal effects of violent conflict. Like the American Civil War, the Hispano-

Moroccan War was one of the first major conflicts in which the media played an integral role in

Spain. First and second-hand accounts by journalists, poets, photographers, and visual artists alike introduced to public life the realities of what was occurring south of the Mediterranean. As a result, as Martin-Marquez notes, the war inspired “countless and conflicted meditations on the nature of Spanish national identity” (my emphasis).33

To some degree, the Spanish government could utilize the influx of visual documentation and literary interpretations to portray a view of the war that exalted national pride and legitimized the conflict to readers and viewers. One popular narrative in the media was the civilizing mission of Spain, which characterized Morocco as the “historical enemy” (as ancestors of Moors), as well as a backwards nation of barbarians, thus fostering favorable public opinion

33 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 101.

23 of the nation’s exploits during the nationwide call for volunteers.34 Josep Sánchez I Cervelló’s analysis of the poetry that focused on the Hispano-Moroccan War exemplifies the widespread attention the relationship between Spain and Morocco received. He categorizes eight main themes:

1) the conflict as a continuation of the war of independence against Napoleon; 2) the use of religion as means to 3) arouse a popular spirit of vengeance against the Moslem invasion of 711; 4) the will to reduce Moroccans, and by extension Moslems, to the status of an infra-human race; 5) to exalt the legacy of the Golden Age and its protagonists…as evidence of Hispanic superiority; 6) to trace Spanish heroism back to the times of Viriathus and Numantia; 7) and lastly to exaggerate the feats of the army and 8) confuse Spain with Castile.35

While a full analysis of the literary production made about the war is beyond the purview of this thesis, the poets analyzed by Sánchez demonstrate some mainstream attitudes in the 1850s and

60s of Spaniards toward the war and Moroccans; clearly, the narrative of the expulsion was a tool used by nationalists and allowed the government to propagate feelings of superiority over their feelings toward their southern neighbors.

Fortuny’s Battle of Tetuan, commissioned by the Barcelona Diputació to glorify the victory of the Spanish, today still holds “an important place in the collective imagination and social memory of many generations of Catalans.”36 Those living in Barcelona in the nineteenth century had the opportunity to see the painting in person, as Champney’s description from 1881

34 Jordi Carbonell, Marià Fortuny: dibuixos i gravats: al Museu Salvador Vilaseca (Barcelona: Lunwerg, 1997), 23.

35 Josep Sánchez I Cervelló, “La Guerra de África. La vision del bando español,” La Batalla De Tetuá n De Fortuny (Barcelona: MNAC, Museu Nacional DArt De Catalunya, 2013), 178 (English translation provided).

36 Object description from the Museu Nacional d’Catalunya website http://www.museunacional.cat/en/colleccio/battle-tetouan/maria-fortuny/010695-000 24 suggests. Martin-Márquez likens the immersive experience of war that the Battle of Tetuan affords to the popular spectacle of the panorama with which contemporary middle-class audiences would have been familiar.37 A cylindrical device the size of a two-story merry-go- round, the panorama allowed visitors to enter its center to witness a painted scene surrounding them in 360 degrees. Scholars such as Agustín Sánchez Vidal and Carmen Pinedo Herrero have referred to several examples of mass spectacles that made the Hispano-Moroccan War an

“eminently popular subject for a wide range of visual attractions” across Spain, including

“several cosmoramas (rooms full of windows with special lenses that looked out onto small-scale panoramic paintings),…a wax museum display devoted to the conflict,…panoramas of the Battle of Castillejos and the Battle of Tetuán in the Ciclorama Universal,” and a “war panorama from

1875 that was shown on a roll in a Madrid theater.”38 In an elaboration of the ideas of Mary

Louise Pratt and Timothy Mitchell, Martin-Márquez describes that the consumption of war through panorama is a spectacle “essential to the colonialist project,” a transformation of the geography and specific event into an “exhibition” (Mitchell’s term) that “reproduces the panopticon’s visually based imposition of power.”39 The all seeing point of view of the spectator observing from a centralized, but safe, position echoes the Saidian interpretation of the

Orientalist stage (see Introduction),which dictates the separation of self and Other, or that which is known and that which is foreign, strange, and objectified as a displaced thing to observe and consume with curiosity from the benign position of an art gallery or other visual attraction.

37 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 125.

38 Ibid., 122.

39 Ibid., 125-126.

The large scale and oblong shape of the canvas that produces the effect of the panorama in the Battle of Tetuan undoubtedly came to Fortuny’s mind after he visited Versailles to seek inspiration from Horace Vernet, painter to Citizen King Louis-Philippe (1830-1848), whose scenes of French conquest in Algeria from several decades earlier were recommended by the

Diputació as models. In 1842, Louis-Philippe had sent Vernet to Africa, under similar circumstances to Fortuny a few decades later, to make preliminary studies for paintings that would glorify the French conquests of Algeria and convert the Chateau of Versailles into a

“pictorial museum of national history.”40 The panoramic effect of Vernet’s frieze-like painting,

Capture of the Smala of Abdelkader, May 16, 1843 (Figure 5), which is similar in size and dimension to the Battle of Tetuan, encapsulates the exhibitionist traits of colonialist painting.

Imposing bodies of French forces on horseback infiltrate an Algerian camp, where chaos ensues.

The French commanders, like the Spanish generals Prim and O’Donnell in the Battle of Tetuan, hold the highest position on the canvas, conveying their control over the pandemonium and terror below. All the while, the viewer’s point of view, in both the Battle of Tetuan and Capture of the Smala, replicates the panorama experience, that of an outside spectator who has the ability to consume with astonishment and bewilderment the violence before them, but from a markedly privileged position, far removed from the dangers of the conflict.

Despite the apparent influence of Vernet on Fortuny, the panoramic display of wartime events in the Battle of Tetuan departs from the Frenchman’s renditions of conquest. In Vernet’s version, the French exist on the same plane as the Algerians, and flatten out their opponents

40 Jennifer Sessions, transcript of "An Empire for a King: The Conquest of Algeria at Louis-Philippe's Versailles," lecture, Whittal Pavilion of the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., April 17, 2008. https://www.loc.gov/loc/kluge/news/news2008.html

26 through their imposition and take-over of the space, an ideal reflection of the colonial mission behind the capture. In Fortuny’s landscape, verticality grants the Moroccans space to exist free from the violence around them. Separated from the Spanish soldiers and Catalan volunteers by a cloud of smoke and dust, arising from the trail of fleeing Moroccans, there is ample room for

Fortuny to portray the soldiers tending to the wounded and mourning the dead. With little combat depicted, the primary evidence of conflict is the aftermath of war: dead and wounded

Moroccans scattered across the bottom portion of the segregated composition. Moreover, unlike the classicizing evenness of light Vernet employed to give visibility to his scene and clarity to the victory of the side he was tasked with elevating, Fortuny’s frenetic brushstrokes obscure to his viewers who the painting is intended to glorify. The ambiguity of the scene is defined by the energy of the battle and swiftness with which the Moroccans fled, heightening the visceral sensations present amidst the power struggle—on both sides—to take control.

While subtle, Fortuny’s granting of autonomy to Moroccans and the muddiness that significantly distracts from any visual evidence of an apparent victor embody the circumstances of the event itself. The Battle of Tetuan, unlike the colonial motivation of France’s blind capture of Smala in Algeria, was a retaliation by the Spanish on the Moroccans for their attacks on

Ceuta, a Spanish city with a long history of changing rule and a multifaceted European and

African identity. Spain’s connection to Ceuta stems back to Roman and Byzantine rule, followed centuries later by its incorporation into the Iberian Peninsula by the Andalusian Moors, before being seized by a succession of North African dynasties. Eventually landing in the hands of the

Portuguese as a part of fifteenth-century imperial efforts, Ceuta came under Spanish rule in the seventeenth century as an inheritance of the Iberian Union. Geographically attached to the continent of Africa, the city is a mere nine miles from the Spanish port of Cádiz. The 27 interconnectedness of the histories and geographies of the two sides of the war complicates the position of Fortuny as an observer on the African continent and recorder of conflict between

Spain and Morocco. He is not in the position of the prevailing colonialist like Vernet, but a participant in a more historically complex territorial dispute, emblematic of decades of back-and- forth relations between two geographically close locales. Morocco, in the eyes of 1860s Spain, held several dualities, aptly described by Champney as: “a land of contrast and paradox, of luxury and cruelty, learning and degradation, refuge of the exiled Moor of Granada, and nursery of hate and revenge for wrongs inflicted by Christian hands!”41 Upon his return from the war,

Fortuny continued to occupy, from a figurative standpoint, the vital but marginal space in- between what can definitively be called Spain (or Europe) or definitively be called Morocco (or

Africa). It was within these blurred lines that in his pictures Fortuny found and expressed notions of Spanishness, that were, in turn, central to his identity and artistic practice for the remainder of his life.

The complexities and contradictions present in the Battle of Tetuan follow in line with those conflicted (rather than discernably nationalist) accounts that Martin-Márquez describes of writers and artists who accompanied the Spanish troops to Morocco. Having contact with the

Moroccan people of Tetuan and Tangier resulted in inward-looking interpretations by the

Spanish of the foreign land and peoples they encountered. Some Spanish representations of

Moroccan subjects were self-performative, an exploration of ‘the Other within’ as they grappled with their sense of identity upon the confrontation of their Moorish ancestors (a subject on which

41 Chapmney, 24. 28

I significantly elaborate in the following chapters).42 Other representations were simply compassionate; interactions in what Pratt calls the “contact zones” familiarized Spaniards with

Moroccan daily life and customs of the ‘historical enemy’ who no longer occupied an imagined space.43

Martin-Márquez suggests that the confrontation with the reality of a people that had for so long been Othered and relegated to a fantastical realm, or Orientalized, was challenging to

Spanish artists and writers who visited Morocco. For example, novelist Pedro Antonio de

Alarcón in his Diario de un testigo de la guerra de Africa, 1859–60 (Diary of an Eyewitness to the African War, 1859–60) describes the transformation he encountered upon seeing dead

Moroccans for the first time: “If I must tell the full truth, the first sentiment they inspired in me was a certain disgust, a certain shame, a certain repugnance. [. . .] Then—I don’t know through what evolution of my ideas—I felt a profound compassion for those unfortunates. [. . .] I lamented the bad fortune of those who were my fellow men.”44 Martin-Márquez also points to the reiteration of Alarcón’s changed sentiment years later by novelist Benito Pérez Galdós in

Aita Tettauen, a fictional account of the Hispano-Moroccan War. Santiuste, the protagonist of

Aita, describes his affliction having seen dead Moroccans in person and posits that Alarcón must

42 See Chapter 2 for elaboration on this concept and Avcioglu, 'Turquerie' and the Politics of Representation, 1728-1876 (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd., 2011).

43 To Pratt, “a ‘contact’ perspective emphasizes how subjects are constituted in and by their relations to each other. It treats the relations among colonizers and colonized, or travelers and “travelees,” not in terms of separateness or apartheid, but in terms of copresence, interaction, interlocking understandings and practices, often within radically asymmetrical relations of power.” See Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation, 2nd edition (New York: Routledge, 2008), 7.

44 Pedro Antonio de Alarcon, Diario de un testigo de la guerra de Africa (Madrid: Imp. y Librería de Gaspar y Roig, 1859), 100-101, as quoted in Martin-Marquez, Disorientations, 127. 29 have felt the same way: “I believe you’ve felt the same thing as I; I believe that in the dead Moor you have seen a fellow man, a brother.”45 The encounter with Moroccan soldiers, and the violence and devastation they witnessed firsthand, allowed the Spanish Orientalists to acknowledge their own conflicting feelings, complicating the generalizations of Orientalist tropes that insist on the Oriental subject remaining in an illusory space defined by temporal and geographical distance. Alarcón, Galdós, and Fortuny gave nineteenth-century audiences the opportunity to understand Moroccans outside the predetermined paradigms of Orientalism, instead encouraging an empathetic perspective based on actual experience of the Other.

Fortuny’s compassion for the Moroccan victims of the Hispano-Moroccan War, often noted by scholars, and his interest in turning such morbidity into subjects for his art, may have stemmed from his previous, deep-seeded preoccupation with dead bodies. As Baron Davillier indicates, Fortuny was moved throughout his life by the firsthand observation of violence and death, first in Morocco as witness to the war— “The sight of the wounded borne from the field, and the burying of the dead, deeply impressed the young painter”—and then again back in Italy when he was attacked while with his friend the painter Attilio Simonetti and witnessed another artist die. Davallier recalls the latter event:

Simonetti relates that one dark night they were attacked by several of those fierce dogs who watch the flocks of the herdsmen (pecorari) of the Campagna around Rome. In spite of the danger, he was very cool; using their color boxes as bucklers, the two painters, while walking backwards, found shelter in a neighboring cabin. Again, under other circumstances, he had occasion to show his coolness and courage, but the sight of dead bodies deeply impressed him. One day, one of his artist friends, by name Visconti, pensionnaire at Florence, was drowned while bathing; Fortuny saw his corpse when laid

45 Benito Pérez Galdós, Aita Tettauen (Madrid: Obras de Pérez Galdós, 1905), 68, as quoted in Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 127. 30

on the beach, and was affected to such a degree, that for two months, it seemed to him this horror was constantly before his eyes.46

Fortuny’s concern with death and the “sight of dead bodies” is evident in his excessive studies of corpses, as well as with his detailed featuring of victims in the Battle of Tetuan. Martin-Márquez notes Fortuny’s presentation in The Battle of Tetuan of “an oddly multifaceted view of the North

Africans’ experiences,” not only their militaristic roles in the war but the affect the violence had on those involved.47

Martin-Márquez fails, however, to mention the full life cycle of these motifs; Fortuny’s suffering Moroccans are not only memorialized forever on the unfinished Battle of Tetuan canvas, but also continue to be important conceptually for the artist in the years after he abandons the commission from the Diputació. When in 1866 Fortuny signed an annual contract with the dealer Goupil, the motifs of the dead and dying Moroccans remained at the forefront of the artist’s mind.48 From an eyewitness account on the battlefield to the artist’s sketch portfolio, the specific images of suffering Moroccans first migrated to the canvas of The Battle of Tetuan and then to the metal plate at which point they received titles—An Arabic Man Keeping Watch over The Dead Body of His Friend (Figure 6), Dead Kabyle (Figure 7), and A Partly Naked Man on the Ground Right Arm Outstretched (Figure 8).

46 Davillier, Life of Fortuny: with his works and correspondence (Philadelphia: Porter & Coates, 1885), 30-31 and 50.

47 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 129.

48 In addition to agreeing to publish Fortuny’s prints, the contract with Goupil gave Fortuny a credit of 24,000 francs annually. It also involved an agreement in which Fortuny would sell his works to Goupil at a fixed price, and any profit in excess would be divided between the artist and dealer. See Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 57. 31

Fortuny chose to engrave his most grueling images of the war to insert into the thriving

French art market, where wealthy patrons awaited typical representations of Oriental subjects that fulfilled their desires for provocative images of violence or sexuality, and often a conflation of the two. Images like Eugène Delacroix’s Death of Sardanapalus (1827; Figure 9), an early but exemplary image of the Orientalist problematics, offered viewers all the enticements a painting could offer in the nineteenth century. The imagined setting of the Orient necessitates a mythological, elaborate plot, in which a world is conjured where sumptuously rendered material possessions are available to the eyes for consumption and naked female bodies are at the mercy of violent, aggressive men, all while a king can safely oversee the destruction of all he owns.

Considering the opposing tenderness with which Fortuny approaches his Orientalist subjects of violence, it may appear as if the genre evolved between the careers of Delacroix and Fortuny.

Violence, however, remained a mainstay of Orientalist imagery, exemplified in Henri Regnault’s

1870 Execution without Trial under the Moor Kings of Granada, a bloody portrayal of a historical event, which I discuss further in Chapter 3 (see Figure 32).

The sympathy imbued in Fortuny’s somber portrayals of Moroccan soldiers differs from characteristically Orientalist representations of violence as in works by Delacroix or Regnault.

The engravings of Fortuny’s subjects thus entered the art market under circumstances that transcended their Orientalist imagery, which in the 1860s and 1870s was certainly still à la mode. Rather, Fortuny’s artistic ingenuity and affiliation with top artists and dealers of the time drove the desirability for his works. The value of owning a Fortuny was determined by unparalleled painterly qualities of his canvases and etchings that Goupil exhibited, thus sanctioning the Spaniard for his elite clientele. Countless artists across Europe emulated

Fortuny’s style of preciosista mark making, creating the artistic movement known as 32

Fortunyism. One memorable compliment paid to the artist after his death came from Vincent

Van Gogh, who after seeing the engraving An Arab Mourning over the Body of His Friend in

1883, wrote to his brother Theo Van Gogh, “I deeply regretted saying to you not long ago I didn’t find Fortuny beautiful – this I found extremely beautiful.”49 Van Gogh’s praise, albeit postmortem and qualified, exemplifies how Fortuny’s virtuosity in etching was particularly marketable. The very formal elements—the saturated blackness, the looseness of brushstroke, and unfinished look (upon which I elaborate below)—that exalt sensations of despair and loss and arouse the empathy of the viewer subsequently elevated images of the fallen Moroccan soldier to objects of significant demand in the art market.

Due to the fact that Fortuny’s etchings of the Hispano-Moroccan War attracted patrons for formal reasons, not just for thematic ones, analysis over the last century has followed suit.

Rosa Vives i Piqué’s catalogue raisonné on Fortuny’s graphic work has been criticized for a lack of interpretive analysis of the prints since she focuses primarily on the artist’s techniques.50

Vives’s empirical contributions to the corpus of work on Fortuny are immense, but the engravings that emerged from Fortuny’s studies of the Battle of Tetuan have suffered from her strict focus, and that of other scholars, on formalism. A continuation of this mode of thinking was the foundation for the Museo del Prado presentation of Fortuny’s engravings in a recent retrospective on the artist from Winter 2017-2018. Organized chronologically, the exhibition confined Fortuny’s engravings to a single gallery, to represent the moment the artist signed the contract with Goupil. The exhibition removes Dead Kabyle and An Arabic Man Keeping Watch

49 Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh, January 3, 1883.

50 Oscar Vazquez, Reviewed Work: Fortuny Gravador : Estudi critic i cataleg raonat by Rosa Vives i Piqué, Print Quarterly 10, no. 3 (September 1993), 298. 33 over The Dead Body of His Friend (A Partly Naked Man on the Ground Right Arm Outstretched was not shown) from the complicated context of the Hispano-Moroccan War, the period in which both images originated. Conveying the innovative experimentalism of Fortuny’s etching, the isolation of these images encouraged museumgoers to view them from a distinctly formal vantage point. But while the wall text briefly reinforced the Orientalist stereotype of the Orient as place of seductive unknown—the medium of these etchings being “particularly well suited to conveying the mysterious atmosphere that attracted him [to Morocco]” (my emphasis)—it simultaneously contradicted that claim, stating “the resulting group of prints represents the finest and most realistic version of orientalism in Europe” (my emphasis).51 By considering

Orientalism as a monolithic, European style, the exhibition repeated tropes typically associated with the genre, but in its consideration of Fortuny’s formal realism it recognized the intense sympathy imbued within his engravings.

This striking statement, “the most realist version of orientalism,” embodies perfectly the major shortcoming of the categorization of Orientalism as any mode of looking at the Orient.

There are no stereotypical characteristics represented in Dead Kabyle or An Arabic Man Keeping

Watch over The Dead Body of His Friend, nor do the artist’s formal decisions, including the frenetic marks, chiaroscuro, and a largely blank background, denote a specifically Moroccan atmosphere. Rather, as Vives’s analysis indicates, the specific qualities of the engravings that give the sense of the real show how Fortuny was not only considerate in his studies and creation of compositions, but also precise in execution, producing several states for each in order to convey accurately the emotive quality central to their context.

51 Wall text from the exhibition Mariano Fortuny, 1838-1874, Museo del Prado, Winter 2017-2018. 34

In An Arabic Man Keeping Watch Over The Dead Body Of His Friend, Fortuny deliberately saturated the space behind the figure of the friend with intense crosshatching. The resulting blackness frames the sitting figure and, with the omission of most detail, drastically stills the scene. A final addition of aquatint between the second and final states darkens the cadaver, which recedes into the background as the seated figure pushes even farther forward. The aquatint also develops the anatomical modeling of the grief-stricken friend, highlighting the cheek and brightening the face, allowing the viewer access to the solemnity of the man’s expression. The rendering of tension in the jutting collarbone, the shoulder muscles of the outstretched arms, and intertwined knuckles further emphasizes the friend’s state of anguish.

Any viewer would instantaneously understand the psychology of this pose, the low hanging head, slouching shoulders, and tightly clasped hands so aptly expressing the body language of the grief-stricken man.

In both prints Fortuny transferred the scenes of death from the battlefield to an austere space, possibly a domestic interior or private exterior. In Dead Kabyle, Fortuny rendered a glowing candle on a dish at the base of an architectural column to the side of the feet of the cadaver, the singular focus of the composition. With nothing else in the etching besides the figure and the column, the presence of the candle is a powerful tribute, a votive, giving remembrance and respect to this fallen man, identified as a soldier by the rested gun across the torso.

Both the candle in Dead Kabyle and the grief-stricken friend in An Arabic Man Keeping

Watch over The Dead Body of His Friend operate as reminders that these bodies, crafted by the hand of the artist, were once human beings. The pottery in An Arabic Man Keeping Watch over

The Dead Body of His Friend functions as a symbolic message that this scene does not take place 35 on the battlefield, but in an intimate setting where household goods would serve a purpose. In these two engravings the presence of humanizing objects surrounding the dead in an otherwise empty space along with the impeding blackness of the back walls remove from these deaths the violence associated with war, conveying their reality as emotional, and not simply political as the government-commissioned Battle of Tetuan signifies. Removed from their battlefield context in the state-sanctioned painting, the etchings portray a relatable sadness surrounding the loss of life, the sacrifice of bravery, and the perspective of such sorrow from the Moroccan, rather than from the European victor. When a representation of death and grief is “realistic,” as the Prado aptly describes the scenes of Dead Kabyle and An Arabic Man Keeping Watch Over The Dead Body

Of His Friend, Fortuny’s “version of orientalism” thus offers a lens through which to convey universal sentiments of a sympathetic artist.

The loose narrative Fortuny’s engravings tell of the Moroccan soldiers is lost within the layout of the Prado’s exhibition. Situated prior to a gallery dedicated to Fortuny’s copying of

Spanish Old Masters, such as Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez, Jusepe de Ribera, and

Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes, the prints’ secluded placement points to a missed opportunity. Another aspect left unnoted is Fortuny’s engravings’ connection to the works in the following room, Fortuny’s copies of Goya’s prisoner etchings (Figures 9-11). Fortuny clearly admired Goya; the year he moved to Madrid and began studying Goya’s work was the same he first began etching. What is more, in 1863, just prior to Fortuny’s artistic sojourn with Goya,

Madrid’s Real Academia de San Fernando posthumously published for the first time The

Disasters of War, a series that was distinct but thematically connected to the prisoner etchings.52

52 In his lifetime Goya never printed Los Destastres de la Guerra due to the political climate during the Spanish War of Independence in 1814. 36

Fortuny’s ink wash drawings copy the scratchiness with which Goya engraved these plates, emphasizing the bodily torment of the prisoners, bound by their limbs, and twisted by the artist to fit within the borders of the print. Goya’s crosshatching in three engravings of prisoners exudes a sense of chaos, mimicking the frenzied interior psychology of the figures whose faces the viewer can barely decipher. These marks are similar to those swiftly rendered in the Fortuny etching A Partly Naked Man on the Ground Right Arm Outstretched. Without specifically rendered details of identity, the marks made by Fortuny and Goya tell stories of physical torture and death, which both Fortuny and Goya witnessed firsthand. Though the empathy evoked by the somberness of Fortuny’s etchings replaces the shock factor based on the terrors present in

Goya’s prints, both artists strive to arouse intense feelings from their viewers.

To Reva Wolf, who discusses the role of the observers of war, “Goya explored most compellingly the gnawing question, for which no adequate answer can be found, of what it means to witness extremes of cruelty, destruction and suffering.”53 She argues that the representation of pain in the print medium developed from eighteenth-century thought surrounding the simultaneous attitudes of fascination and repulsion toward horrific events, articulated by Edmund Burke’s 1757 work A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful (translated in Spain in 1807), in which, as Wolf notes, he characterizes pity and terror as the causes of the sublime.54 A contemporary of Burke, James

Beattie, in his 1783 text “Illustrations on Sublimity” (also translated into Spanish in 1789) asks,

53 Reva Wolf, "Onlooker, Witness, and Judge in Goya's Disasters of War," in Fatal Consequences: Callot, Goya, and the Horrors of War (Hanover, NH: Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth College, 1990), 37.

54 Ibid., 38. 37

“Why do people run to see battles, executions, and shipwrecks?” Burke’s interpretation of sympathy offers an answer:

There is no spectacle we so eagerly pursue, as that of some uncommon and grievous calamity; so that whether the misfortune is before our eyes, or whether they are turned back to it in history, it always touches with delight…The delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes of misery; and the pain we feel, prompts us to relieve ourselves in relieving those who suffer.55

The “delight” of the pain one feels in witnessing another’s suffering recalls Martin-Márquez’s interpretation of the panorama effect of The Battle of Tetuan. Visual media that afford mass public accessibility to images of violence are not only a form of spectacle, but also elicit universal sympathetic responses. Universality, as Jesusa Vega notes, is central to the imagery of

Disasters, in which Goya avoids specific representations of people, events, and places, to convey instead the appearance of “atemporality, anonymity and verisimilitude that are essential characteristics of [his] pictorial system.” According to Vega, it is the human aspect of the war, rather than the patriotic, that contributes to “how the series has come to be seen as making the case against war itself.”56 Fortuny’s engravings also convey the presence of the artist’s sublime experience. The ways in which he approaches his subjects with sensitivity, intimacy, and sympathy encourage the viewer to absorb the emotive qualities of tragic death and take ‘delight’ in their own removal from the scene.

Though Fortuny differentiates his emotional Moroccan subjects from that of typically violent Orientalist imagery, connections between the extremes of the Orient and the sensation of

55 Edmund Burke and David Womersley, A philosophical enquiry into the origin of our ideas of the sublime and beautiful and other pre-revolutionary writings (London: Penguin Books, 2004), 93.

56 Jesusa Vega, “The Dating and Interpretation of Goya's ‘Disasters of War’” Print Quarterly 11, no. 1 (March 1994): 9. 38 the sublime that have long been pointed out in Orientalist discourse remain productive in considering his work. 57 Henri Regnault scholar Marc Gotlieb introduces for the first time the concept of an Orientalist sublime to unpack how the experience of the Orient is one that is physically and emotionally impactful. Sun-drunk and likely sunburnt as well, the Orientalists found inspiration in both the pleasure and pain of the African light—the Orientalist sublime thus being an experience of fantasy naturalized by the effects of the sun.58 Many artist-travelers credit the intoxicating ecstasy of prolonged exposure to the African light “with helping to free them from inherited studio routines,” an effort Gotlieb credits with catalyzing the Impressionist movement (though the Orientalists, he distinguishes, were not entirely grounded like the

Impressionists in the empirical search for sensory effects). 59

Beyond searching for material inspiration, the Orientalists looked for vocational renewal, a thirst quenched by travel to a foreign land with drastic environmental differences to cold and gray Northern Europe.60 Geography and climate have long fueled Orientalist tropes about the inhabitants of the Orient, enforcing the idea that “just as the ‘land of fire’ imposed itself on the region’s inhabitants, so it nurtured a despotic, timeless, and immobile culture.”61 Gotlieb, and

57 The wall text for Fortuny’s ca. 1868-1869 painting A Mutilated Arab Prisoner beside a Warden from the exhibition Mariano Fortuny, 1838-1874 (Museo del Prado, Winter 2017-2018), disappointingly attempted to describe it in more brutal terms than it appears, stating the artist was “interested in scenes of physical torment and humiliation” as ”they were part of the orientalist imaginary of European painters, which they fueled during their trips to Africa.”

58 Marc Gotlieb, The Deaths of Henri Regnault (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 50.

59 Ibid., 46.

60 Ibid.

61 Ibid., 42. 39

Roger Benjamin before him, note that Orientalist representations fail to portray the economic or political context that brought them to the Orient, “address[ing] colonized spaces without referring to the situation of [their] inhabitants.”62 Fortuny, being from Spain, and the

Mediterranean side of Europe nonetheless, did not necessarily encounter the southern sun with the same degree of overwhelming intensity as his Northern European counterparts. The geographical closeness of the Orient to Spain thus provided Fortuny with a familiarity on which he could base his Orientalist pictures.

By removing the engraved Moroccan subjects from the environment of the battlefield from whence they came, Fortuny transferred them out of the blinding light of the African sun and into domestic settings. The spaces that Fortuny constructs are defined by their chiaroscuro and an arresting blackness, both of which exudes stillness of death and mystery of the unknown.

But perhaps there is also a sense of relief or salvation to this return to a place of dark intimacy that resists sensations like the vulnerability of dying out in the open under the bright sunlight.

Burke defines darkness as the “more productive of sublime ideas than light” and likens the sensation of blinding light, which Gotlieb argues the Orientalists were experiencing, to darkness:

“extreme light, by overcoming the organs of sight, obliterates all objects, so as in its effect exactly to resemble darkness.”63 Thus, it is not the overabundance of light in Morocco that resonated with Fortuny, but the depths of darkness that he then used to frame the African bodies in his engravings.

62 Ibid., 42-3.

63 Burke, A philosophical enquiry, 121.

To illustrate the opposing pictorial effect of extreme light, consider Eugene Fromentin’s

1869 painting Land of Thirst (Figure 13), in which tormented bodies are at the mercy of the brightness of sun. Fromentin paints the rocky desert landscape to appear formidable, linking the foreignness of such a place with the severity of the sensations its inhabitants endure and the fact that there is no darkness into which they can take cover. These images of extreme vulnerability recall the colonialist view of the all-seeing spectator, in which inhabitants of the Orient are at the mercy of those watching. While Fortuny painted his fair share of light-filled Moroccan scenes, the spaces he carved out to hold the dead reflect the profound psychological interiority of survivors of violence, as seen in Dead Kabyle, An Arabic Man Keeping Watch Over The Dead

Body Of His Friend, and A Partly Naked Man on the Ground Right Arm Outstretched. The

Spanish artist’s experience of the sublime in the Orient was not one dictated by Gottlieb’s descriptions of extreme atmospheric sensations, but rather, as in Goya’s Disasters and images of prisoners, one of universally understood existential negotiations.

The panorama of the Battle of Tetuan and etchings of dead, dying, and mourning

Moroccans that subsequently entered the circuit of the art market perpetuated the craze for shock-factor imagery, spectacles in which the horrors they evoked were just as intriguing as the foreignness and strangeness they unearthed. As Spain worked to build its image as a nation still capable of colonial prowess, the spectacle of war served well as an image of domination and defeat over a weaker neighbor to the south. Yet, ingrained in Fortuny’s reality of the conflict was his connection to the land and sympathy toward its inhabitants, sentiments that suggested an embracing of the Moroccan neighbor rather than an advancing of Spain’s imperial agenda.

Moreover, his engravings, lauded by international critics for technical skill and inventiveness, expressed an emotive universality through the very use of expressive marks, chiaroscuro, and 41 blackness that dazzled his fans. With these formal elements, Fortuny captivated intense stillness and reflection, expressing how the profundity of sensations of the sublime was his introduction to the Oriental world which sparked years of devotion to the subject.

The chapters to come explore how Fortuny’s connection to Morocco through deeply impactful experiences of war, darkness, and reality resonate throughout the corpus of his work, in performances of identity of both self and of Spain as a national construct. Fortuny’s approach to the Hispano-Moroccan War as one that vacillated on the line between sympathy and spectacle is suggestive of greater notions of hybridity in Spain that play out through the rest of this thesis, uncovering how the artist’s lifetime dedication to the Moroccan subject stemmed from these initial moments of reaction to the dead and dying.

Chapter 2: Fortuny in Spain, between Spanish and Oriental Masculinity

“Vive l’Espagne! Vive l’Orient! Vive Fortuny!”64

-Henri Regnault, in a 1869 letter to Baron Davillier

Having returned to Barcelona after the Hispano-Moroccan War, Mariano Fortuny and the other Catalan volunteers posed for photographic portraits by Manuel Moliné y Muns and Rafael

Albareda to memorialize their role in the historical conflict. For his photographs, Fortuny departed from the traditional military portrait in the carte-de-visite style employed by other

Spanish soldiers, opting instead to wear Arab dress and hold a Kabyle musket typical of

Moroccan artillery (Figure 14), and thus promoting the image of the enemy rather than his own official role as the artist for the war. Dressing in the guise of an Arab was useful for Fortuny when in 1862 he returned to Morocco on a second commission from the Barcelona Diputació.

With the Battle of Tetuan far from complete but the contract to do so still in effect, Fortuny was sent to gather more material for his grand scale battle painting. His interest in the subject of the

‘Orient’ and devotion to subjects of the everyday nevertheless trumped his obligation to glorify the conflict. Having the opportunity to immerse himself once more in Moroccan life, he sought to gather a visual cache of the typologies of Morocco—the traits of the people, their customs, and the materials that so attracted him to the nation—with the war, at this point, far behind him.

In order to access the desired material, the artist went to great lengths to set his identity as a foreigner aside, wearing, once again, Arab dress that “enabled [him] to make many excursions in

64 Jean-Charles Davillier, Fortuny, sa vie, son oeuvre, sa correspondance, avec cinq dessins iné dits en fac-similé et deux eaux-fortes originales (Paris: A. Aubry, 1875), 48. 43 the environs of Tanger.”65 Imaginably with the same costume he had just two years prior used as masquerade for a playful portrait, the artist disguised himself as a means of gaining access to a culture he so fervently desired to absorb.

This chapter considers Fortuny’s cultural cross-dressing—both abroad and back home— as a form of public performance that exposed the innate tensions of Spanishness and masculinity that imbued his Orientalist pictures of Moroccan men. Key to unpacking Fortuny’s masquerade is the connection between performance and Orientalism, first problematized by Said and since activated by scholars as a means of nuancing the essentially theatrical nature of the genre. Said created the notion of the Orientalist stage, asserting that figures of an Orientalist vocabulary “are to the actual Orient…as stylized costumes are to characters in a play,” inventing a “theatrical stage whose audience, manager, and actors are all for Europe, and only for Europe” (Said’s emphasis).66 By contextualizing Fortuny’s masquerade within nineteenth-century Spain, this chapter uncovers how the artist’s manipulation of his representation of self mirrored identity exploration on a national scale, thus dismissing Said’s negative connotation of theatrical

Orientalism as one “only for Europe” and instead proposing it may be about Europe (or Spain, in this case), on the macro level, and about the artist, on the individual level.

This chapter engages the scholarship of Sheriff who considers the Orientalist portrait as one that is for the individual himself, and less so an imperial agenda, and of Charnon-Deutsch who grounds the nineteenth-century exotic image of Spanish women in a national context.

Spain’s grappling with dwindling power in the global context informs Charnon-Deutch’s assertion that images of the exotic “represent unfulfilled desires of a nation moving toward

65 Henri Regnault to Baron Davillier, 1869, as quoted in Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 40.

66 Said, Orientalism, 71-72. 44 modernity, but not toward domination of the world, like the rest of Europe.”67 I posit that

Fortuny’s utilization of the Orientalist theater through formal choices Said was quick to dismiss as problematic allowed the artist to explore expressions of self and nation. The use of repeated stock characters—the Moroccan soldier, who is notably virile, and the elderly Moroccan street beggar, who is markedly feeble—operate as expressions of masculinity that reflect tensions between Spanish dominance and the purportedly inferior Moroccan enemy. Fortuny imbued these paintings with Christian imagery, such as a youthful Christ on the cross and martyrdom of a saint, to further connect the representations of Morocco to its European histories. Moreover, the types staged in front of constructed, decorative backdrops assert a participation in the

Spanish craze for Islamic decorative objects as a means of bolstering the image of Spain as an historically rich and culturally superior nation. In his masquerade, Fortuny places himself in the center of these explorations; he embodies the fluidity in identity between the two locales.

The two known Moliné y Albareda photographs of Fortuny dressed as an Arab participate in what Sheriff outlines as a trajectory of artists dressing up and depicting themselves in exotic costumes.68 Fortuny’s choice to express himself in foreign dress parallels that of the artist Jean-Etienne Liotard, the Swiss, though categorically ‘international,’ subject of Sheriff’s interest, who labels his self-portrait as le peintre turc. Following Sheriff, and Nebahat Avciolgu before her, I consider the photograph of Fortuny as an expression—like Liotard’s le peintre

67 Lou Charnon-Deutsch, Hold That Pose: Visual Culture in the Late-nineteenth-century Spanish Periodical (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008), 19.

68 Mary D. Sheriff, “The Dislocations of Jean-Etienne Liotard, Called the Turkish Painter,” Cultural Contact and the Making of European Art since the Age of Exploration, edited by Mary D. Sheriff (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), 102. 45 turc—of “the other within” (Avcioglu’s term).69 Charnon-Deutsch points to Lily Litvak who considers, “the desire for the other is ultimately the desire that one has to countenance the other in oneself,” concluding that exoticism “helps us to find that which connects us all as human beings” (original emphasis).70 On “masquerades and the exotic role play they contain,” Tara

Mayer posits the question, “Are they not, historians have asked, the very embodiment of imperialist fantasy—a thrilling, yet ultimately safe, means by which to inhabit the space of the

‘Other’?”71 Fortuny’s personal connection to his Moroccan counterpart is clear (see Chapter 1), and it is this experience through which his masquerade as an Arab soldier should be explored to demonstrate the greater implications of the artist’s identity and his works.

In the Moliné y Albareda photograph of Fortuny standing in Arab dress, conserved at the

Museu de Reus in Fortuny’s hometown, the artist poses exuding a sense a machismo through the relaxed hanging of his arms over the musket resting across his back. The visibly dramatized stance is atypical for a carte-de-visite, in which figures usually stand eerily stationary without expressive body language, often with arms resting on a balustrade or nearby prop due in part to the need to remain still during the photographic process. Fortuny may have based his swaggering pose on the fearlessness he witnessed exhibited by the Moroccan soldier in the face of violence.

As the previous chapter proposes, Fortuny’s firsthand experiences on the battlefield prompted the artist to have genuine sympathy toward his Moroccan subjects. His drawings, etchings, and paintings of Moroccan soldiers, including those rendered in the Battle of Tetuan, are marked with a tension between the inevitable display of violence, which is sensitized by an instilled power of

69 Sheriff, “The Dislocations of Jean-Etienne Liotard,” Cultural Contact, 101-102.

70 Charnon-Deutsch, Hold That Pose, 181.

71 Tara Mayer, "Cultural Cross-Dressing: Posing and Performance in Orientalist Portraits," Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 22, no. 2 (2012): 287. 46 humanity. While Fortuny’s dressing up as a Moroccan is a mimicking of foreign identity that borders on caricaturing, his doing so as the overtly virile archetype of the soldier indicates his exploring of an alternate form of masculinity as embodied by the Other. To dismiss the photograph for having stereotypical qualities would be, in the words of Sheriff, to “overlook the complexity of the picture it presents,” including the fact that Fortuny spent a considerable amount of time seeking to understand the violence his subject of interest had to withstand.

Fortuny’s enactment of the blasé attitudes of the Moroccan soldiers that may have impressed him is therefore a performative masquerade marked by the fact that the artist’s costume does not entirely camouflage his true identity, recognizable by the exposed presence of his mustache.72 Facial hair, which Victoria Alonso Cabezas explains was, in the nineteenth century, “loaded with sociocultural meanings associated with masculine identity” asserts

Fortuny’s masculinity.73 A French critic that Reyero recalls compares the styled trimming of

Fortuny’s facial hair to that of Queen Isabella II’s (r. 1833-1868) husband, Francisco de Asís

(1822-1902), thus integrating the elite status of the monarch into an image of the virility of a

Moroccan soldier.74 With Spain’s declared victory over Morocco in the war, what motivated

Fortuny to muddy the distinction between the African enemy and European elite? Is Fortuny asserting that the vigor of the Moroccan solider is a trait the Spanish elites may also possess?

72 On different forms of mimicry, see Anne McClintock, Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Conquest (New York: Routledge, 1995).

73 Victoria Alonso Cabezas, “Beardless young men? Facial hair and the construction of masculinity in nineteenth-century Spanish self-portraits,” New perspectives on the history of facial hair: framing the face, eds. Jennifer Evans and Alun Withey (Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), 92.

74 Reyero, Fortuny, 82. 47

The Hispano-Moroccan War of 1859-1860 has been widely considered by historians as an attempt by the Spanish to prove their continued power despite the significant decline in imperial reach throughout the earlier part of the nineteenth century (see Introduction). Spain’s dominance as a world power significantly dwindled when it lost the majority of its territories in the New World during the Spanish American wars of Independence, occurring at the same time as the Napoleonic Wars in the beginning of the century.75 The territories in Morocco were some of the few remaining in the Spanish Empire at this time, and Spanish-held African cities like

Ceuta also afforded opportunities for trade and commercial expanse for the nation. At the time of the Hispano-Moroccan War, Spain’s grasp on northern Morocco thus symbolized the remnants of the nation’s previous glory. Moreover, Spain’s continued presence in the region to its south served as a reminder, as frequently suggested in the press and popular texts, of Catholic supremacy during the expulsion of the Moors almost three centuries prior (see Chapter 1).

It is within the context of Spain’s jockeying for a continued place of significance in global power dynamics that I consider Fortuny’s photographic portrait as the artist’s exploration of exoticism and masculinity within himself, as well as within Spain. The exotic, as Litvak notes, provided both an escape route from the exceedingly mundane realities of an increasingly modernizing world and an enrichment of that banality “contributing to bourgeois ‘sueños de distancia’ [dreams of distance], and opening Spain to valuable secrets about its own complex past.”76 Certainly Fortuny’s masquerade can be read as a form of escapism. Cartes-de-visite were at this time still a luxury to those small numbers of Spaniards who could afford them and a

75 In the 1860s only Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Spanish East Indies remained under Spain’s control overseas.

76 Charnon-Deutsch, Fictions of the Feminine, 181. 48 means for members of bourgeois society to present themselves to their peers as they wanted to be characterized. The exact trace of Fortuny’s carte-de-visite is unknown, but Charnon-Deutsch explains that photographs taken in studios such as Moliné y Albareda, one of the most prominent of its time, were significant “both as a private family document and as an object that was exhibited in studio window cases for any and all to see.”77 Sitters like Fortuny would thus have been a welcomed advertisement for the studio. Moreover, the distinctly modern medium of the photograph gave mass audiences the ability to see and consume images of the previously only imagined world of the Orient and its peoples, a fantasy in which Fortuny dabbles with his portrait. To his peers and colleagues, and perhaps even the greater public of window-browsers on foot, Fortuny presents himself as a Moroccan and simultaneously contests his Spanish identity, perhaps as a means of indulging in the pleasures of a distant, foreign space marked by the tantalizing allure of the unknown.

While Fortuny’s cross-dressing gives his portrait a discernable exoticism, also notable is that the artist’s stance and positioning of his arms recall Christ on the crucifix. To that effect, the traditional middle eastern garb of the Arab soldier inherently evokes a distant Christian past.

Such a recognizable reference is difficult to detach from the portrait. Nonetheless, what may have been Fortuny’s intent to bolster his self-image as an icon of sorts is complicated by the fact that he repeats the motif of the Christlike Moroccan soldier in his Orientalist paintings over the course of the following decade. Each of the three works, African Chief (Figure 15), The Carpet

Sellers (Figure 16), and Arab Leaning Against A Tapestry (Figure 17), contains a male figure standing with arms casually hooked over a musket resting on his back in the crucified position, just as Fortuny posed for his carte-de-visite. Most similar is the portrait-style format of the

77 Charnon-Deutsch, Hold that Pose, 50. 49 painting of African Chief, in which the body of the figure is positioned so closely to Fortuny’s pose that it appears to be based on the photograph. In The Carpet Sellers, Fortuny inserts a near- identical figure of the African Chief into a scene on the streets of modern day Morocco in which a commercial exchange involves the gathering of several Moroccan types repeated throughout his work (including those in Arab Musicians, Figure 29). Fortuny continues the reference to

Christ within the repeated use of the archetype of the Moroccan soldier, transferred from his own photograph to a singular portrait against an abstract landscape, and onto the mundane street in

Tangier. Embodied within the motif of the solider are masculinities that are at once somewhat oppositional—the deeply worshiped Catholic hero, marked by the humility of a crucified pose, and a self-assured leader of the enemy troops—and rather unified as emblematic tensions present within the identity of a conflicted Spain, into which Fortuny inserts himself.

Fortuny’s portrait shows the artist dressed up not as an historical figure in a distant dream of Spain’s complex past, but rather as one of Spain’s very complicated present, witnessed firsthand in Morocco. As Charnon-Deutsch aptly argues, Litvak’s assessment of the exotic in

Spain serving as an escape is flawed in its failure to acknowledge the specificities of Spanish culture and political issues including “the relation between representations of the exotic and

Spain’s notion of itself as a nation in decline” and “the ambiguities of Spain’s vision of itself as an exotic object for the European painter.”78 The Moroccan soldier that Fortuny embodies, and the expression of virility it holds, thus represent the very figure that holds the key to one of the last doors to Spain’s imperial existence. With the decades following the Hispano-Moroccan War marked by “a series of mostly failed attempts on the part of Spain to,” once again, “become a principal player in European expansionism or to hold onto the vestiges of its colonial holdings,”

78 Charnon-Deutsch, Fictions of the Feminine, 181. 50

Charnon-Deutsch posits, “it was, in short, far easier to collect magazine images than to collect or hold onto colonies.”79 As Spain confronted a loss of imperial power on a global scale, the so- called collecting of the exotic image, of which we can consider Fortuny’s portrait and paintings of Moroccan types to be part of (though outside the scope of Charnon-Deutsch’s study of print media), was a means of possessing the foreign world that was otherwise being lost to Spain’s

European neighbors to the North.

Beyond the collecting of images, Spain was able to possess the exotic through the preservation of its Islamic cultural heritage. Starting in the mid-eighteenth century, conservation of Islamic architecture and Moorish objects became a national project. In the 1800s, the growing national interest in ornamentation led to new architectural styles, such as the Alhambresque, a reworking of the architecture of the Alhambra, and the neo-mudéjar, reminiscent of Christian architecture in medieval Spain that appears Islamic. The eclecticism and lack of strict formal guidelines of these styles signify Spain was no longer preoccupied with adhering to the visual and historical accuracy so strongly promoted and systematized in the eighteenth century, but rather concerned with the creation of something new that could be intertwined into its multicultural identity and would satisfy growing demand from the rest of Europe for the image of an exotic Spain (see Chapter 3). The resulting craze in Spain for all things Islamic, called maurofilia, thus became an integral component of national identity determined by the elite class of individuals like Fortuny. Fortuny, in 1867, married Cecilia de Madrazo, the daughter of

Federico de Madrazo, who was an important figure in the arts in Spain, having served as director of both the Real Academia de San Fernando (1866–1894) and Museo del Prado (1860-1868 and

79 Charnon-Deutsch, Hold that Pose, 30.

1881-1894). As a successful artist in his own right and member of the prominent Madrazo family, Fortuny was very much a part of the Spanish bourgeoisie, which was closely affiliated with elite circles in capital cities across Europe and at this time conceptualizing and propagating notions of Spanishness. Fortuny’s collecting and painting of Islamic decorative objects was thus dually a personal exploration of identity and one driven by a bourgeois interest in maurofilia.

Fortuny’s maurofilia is best exemplified in his painting Arab Leaning against a Tapestry, a large, portrait-length canvas, that frames a single figure, in the posture strikingly similar to that of Fortuny in the photographic portrait, against the backdrop of a colorful Islamic textile. The setting of staged, exuberant props insists on a degree of artificiality. Fortuny was an adamant collector of Islamic textiles, earthenware vases and plates, and a variety of North African weapons and instruments that filled the walls of his studio in Rome; it is very possible that the background of the painting was likely his studio. Fortuny was not only a maurófilo, but an active participant in the creation and revival of Islamic-style decorative objects. In the words of

Champney:

‘And Fortuny; was he not a blacksmith also?’ He had his little forge here, and amused himself by forging, graving, and demaskening weapons. He made one magnificent scimitar in Moorish style, with a finely decorated ivory scabbard; welded together some fragments of ancient swords, incrusting the blade with an inscription in gold. He enjoyed the curiosity-shops, and picked up from them many an embroidered vestment and bit of Moorish faïence which served afterward to decorate his palace studio at Rome. He even gave some attention to painting upon tiles, and succeeded in obtaining some of the Moorish tints, glazes, and metallic reflections supposed to be among the lost arts.80

For certain, Arab Leaning against a Tapestry’s very materialization blossomed from years of

Fortuny’s devotion to Islamic arts, his notebooks filled with renderings of the contents of his studio: weapons, details of Islamic textiles and carpets, tiles, and pottery.

80 Champney, “In the Footsteps of Fortuny and Regnault,” 33. 52

The determination of Fortuny to use his own collection of Islamic antiquities in his paintings, not as objects he “has been able to copy or evoke,” but as objects that are real and

“belong to him,” narrows the distance between the artist and his subject.81 As Francesc M.

Quílez i Corella emphasizes in the 2013 catalogue for the exhibition Tiempo de ensoñación.

Andalucía en el imaginario de Fortuny, “the collector's interest in incorporating real objects from his own collection” into his paintings gave his work “high levels of naturalistic realism.”82

That said, the artist displayed these objects for use in his studio in Rome, far removed from their

‘natural’ environment of a distant past or far-away setting. Fortuny’s very staging of his collection within Arab Leaning against a Tapestry thus suggests that the painting can also be read as an Orientalist’s self-portrait. It is Fortuny’s own iteration of the Moliné y Alberada photograph, wherein he not only takes on the Christlike pose of the Moroccan soldier, two references loaded with cultural and historical associations to masculinity, but also does so in the presence of his impressive collection of valuable objects. The striking resemblance in the richly imbued palette of Arab Leaning against a Tapestry to the painting by the artist’s brother-in-law

Ricardo de Madrazo, The Studio of Marià Fortuny in Rome (Figure 18), further evidences that the settings of these two paintings are one and the same and that Fortuny’s self-portrait as the

Arab leaning against his tapestry he himself owned is also an expression of the artist’s connoisseurship and elite taste. Just visible through the frenetic brushstrokes that muddily define the figure’s face in the latter is the hint of a mustache, the nod to one physical manifestation of

Fortuny’s bourgeois refinement adding yet another layer to the complexity of this portrait.

81 Francesc M. Quílez i Corella, Tiempo De ensoñació n: Andalucía En El Imaginario De Fortuny (Barcelona: Museu Nacional DArt De Catalunya, 2016), 170.

82 Ibid. 53

With Spain’s Islamic heritage a prominent source of national pride, Orientalism in the visual arts was thus “of fundamental importance to the modern trajectory of identity formations in Spain,” as Martin-Márquez has argued.83 Nonetheless, the word Orientalism is a de facto binary—the root “orient” implying a positioning, and thus the separation or difference, between two people, places, or things. But Spanishness existed on both sides of that duality. Spain was a nation “at once Orientalized and Orientalizing,” Martin-Márquez continues.84 Thus, Fortuny’s performative representations of self as Other work to deconstruct notions of the self as separate from the Other. Considering Fortuny’s Arab Leaning Against a Tapestry as a self-portrait suggests his collapsing of the two. The painting at once asserts a prideful, masculine presence

(with the Christlike pose of the soldier), while affiliating that status with a cache of beautiful, exotic, decorative objects that symbolize the subject’s internationalism and class, and the rich cultural history of the country from which he came. Without ever fully deserting the security of his European ties (by parading his ever-present mustache while in Arab garb or exhibiting his impressive collection of objets d'art), Fortuny somewhat concedes to the idea of Spain as “a nation moving toward modernity, but not toward domination of the world,” and thus its place as a nation in-between Europe and Africa.85 He may be trying on for size a masculinity that better fits what he sees as distinctly Spanish: wealthy, as evidenced by the appearance of excess, and thus culturally rich and learned, but also somewhat idle, as opposed to active and progressing— not fully macho in the true sense, but more a refined machismo.

83 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 8.

84 Ibid., 9.

85 Charnon-Deutsch, Hold that Pose, 19. 54

Taking on the identity of the Arab soldier, Fortuny drastically changes his self-portrait by the addition of decorative elements. By doing so, he inserts himself and his proclaimed identity through this portrait into international discourse on Islamic ornamentation that was highly contested in the earlier decades of the century. The rise of the celebration of Islamic monuments in Spain coincided with its slow acceptance into greater European tastes, as Lara Eggleton so concisely overviews. The British artist Owen Jones, for example, copied with “liberal interpretations” the ornamentation of the Alhambra but presented Islamic art and design in such a

“formulaic” way that he turned off critics.86 John Ruskin famously despised the Nasrid palace and condemned its “apparently decadent designs as better suited to ‘lower’ art media,” with its

“conventionalized forms as a reprehensible sign of cultural stagnation and decline.”87 The outreach of Rafael Contreras Muñoz, who was the Alhambra’s restorer and then director, spread the Alhambra style to “professionals and museum institutions outside Spain,” helping to push

Islamic arts into a truly Europeanized international style.88 Fortuny, as one who rose in social class over the course of his life, would have been well aware of conversations surrounding the

Islamic arts in international discourse, and was perhaps even one of its biggest proponents. The artist thus utilized the Islamic decorative objects of his collection to present himself as a distinctly Spanish bourgeois man, one who satisfies the intellectual aspirations of international elites by embracing Spain’s material beauty, albeit of the nation’s non-Christian lineage.

86 Lara Eggleton, “History in the making: the ornament of the Alhambra and the past- facing present,” Journal of Art Historiography, 6 (2012): 13.

87 Ibid., 29, 13.

88 Ibid., 15. 55

While reading Fortuny’s Arab Leaning against a Tapestry as a self-portrait helps to tease out the variations of Spanish masculinity and identity as they were closely connected to the rising craze for Islamic decorative arts, these themes were present throughout his body of

Orientalist works. The link in Fortuny’s paintings between generalized male figures, Moroccan or otherwise, to Islamic treasures demonstrates how ornamentation served to express masculinity and propriety through the materiality of Spain’s culture. Some of Fortuny’s Orientalist paintings, however, pair luxurious and brightly colored objects with the aged architecture and rundown backdrops of Morocco.

To Linda Nochlin, there are two approaches to the fabric of the Orientalist setting: 1) those artists who painted the “neglected, ill-repaired architecture” of the Orient, as a means of

“commenting on the corruption of contemporary Islamic society,” and 2) those who took it upon themselves to “repair” any signs of decay, to evoke something more picturesque and, in turn, creating what she calls the “imaginary Orient.”89 By doing so, the artists working in the second mode mask any blatant signs of corruption or conflict, especially with the colonial powers with whom the artists were usually aligned.90 Nochlin points to Jean-Léon Gérôme’s 1879 The Snake

Charmer (Figure 19), the iconic example used by her and other scholars of Orientalism. At the center of the canvas, a tightly coiled snake wrapped around its nude charmer emphasizes the allure of the East, a place both sexually charged and mysterious.91 The shimmering, glossy blue

89 Linda Nochlin, “The Imaginary Orient,” in The Politics of Vision: Essays on Nineteenth-Century Art and Society (Great Britain: Thames and Hudson Ltd., 1991), 38-39.

90 Ibid., 50.

91 Ibid., 35.

56 tiles overshadow minor signs of disrepair in the architecture, and serve as a majestic backdrop to the awe-inducing and eroticized action of the bare-bottomed boy as he magically charms the snake before him. In comparison, Fortuny’s painting of the same narrative from a decade prior,

Hindu Snake Charmers (Figure 20), lacks the allure of Gérôme’s rendering. Fortuny’s quick and expressionistic painting style distracts from any specific details in the work. The snake taunted by two crouching figures is barely visible against the darkly rendered carpet beneath them that somewhat blends in with the bleak background of the landscape. Smoke from a fire pollutes the air, and figures in the distance sit somberly. Most of Fortuny’s paintings, like Hindu Snake

Charmers, fall visually in line with those far-from-idealized representations Nochlin describes of the Orientalist landscape, many of which are lacking in clean detail of the magnificently

‘repaired’ settings that characterize the paintings of Fortuny’s Orientalist contemporaries, such as

Gérôme.

Along with Fortuny’s paintings of the worn-down Oriental landscape are those of figures in states of idleness. Nochlin likens representations of idleness, as with those infrastructural decay, to the colonizer’s attempt to justify the need for colonization through the depiction of the inferiority of a society, their general lack of motivation or ability to progress and modernize, or more simply, their laziness, so as to propose the superiority of the colonizer. Prime examples of such characterizations would be Orientalist depictions of the odalisque, which employed the female figure as an object of fantasy that connects feminine indolence with sexual availability, directly referencing how the dormancy of one society affords the opportunity for a more superior society to mount and dominate.92 Fortuny only painted three odalisques during his career,

92 On Fortuny’s odalisques, see Martin-Márquez, “Staging the Odalisque’s Conquest in the Spanish-Moroccan War (1859-1860)” in Disorientations: Spanish Colonialism in Africa and the Performance of Identity (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014). 57 primarily as a means of appeasing the Barcelona Diputació when he had not yet finished the

Battle of Tetuan. Martín-Marquez interprets the lack of interest in the odalisque as his intent to seek authenticity, for he simply did not have the same access to Moroccan women as he did to

Moroccan men.93 Despite Fortuny’s focus on men, removing gender from the conversation of exoticism is an impossible task; the understanding of self and Other is intrinsically related to sexually driven notions of subject and object. In nineteenth-century Spain, a particularly strong link existed between sexuality and exoticism, due, in part, to the aforementioned distortion of defined boundaries between self and Other. Though Said’s gendering of a female Orient and a male Europe does not quite apply to the more complex Spanish context, gender remains an important vehicle through which to explore both difference and sameness, with the various iterations of the male figure in Fortuny’s works a manifestation of the artist’s closeness to his subject matter, and the way in which many of his paintings were a performance of self and nation. Fortuny’s representations of men in states of idleness thus function as meditations on the exoticism within that are sexual, in their exploratory sense, but nonetheless inward-looking.

Their stagnancy perhaps mirrors the condition of the bourgeois painter, relaxing in ecstasy amongst beautiful objects, just as Fortuny and his wife Cecilia are captured doing in the photographs of Fortuny’s studio (Figure 21).

One idle figure repeated throughout Fortuny’s oeuvre is the old man on the street that manifests into several typologies including the beggar and the opium smoker. Whereas the

Moroccan soldier served as an indicator of virility, the old man represents its aged counterpart.

In the painting Opium Smoker (Figure 22), an elderly man reclines before a beautifully painted textile. Here the signature pose of the odalisque, as expressed by her antithesis, neither connotes

93 Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 141. 58 sexual availability nor highlights exotic difference. Instead, it evokes a more universally understood and accepted reason for this lounging position: old age. Against the background wall and framing the left side of the figure is the same carpet that some of the previously mentioned paintings (Arab Leaning Against a Tapestry, The Studio of Marià Fortuny in Rome) suggest was a part of Fortuny’s collection and venerated by the artist for its luxurious colors and exotic ornamentation. In doing so, Opium Smoker connects objects inherited from Spain’s Islamic past, that were at the time one focus of Europe’s intellectual present, to an image of a Moroccan man on the street. Fortuny uses the carpet to reweave the ancient Islamic decorative arts and architecture of Spain’s Islamic heritage into the fabric of contemporary Spanish identity in the nineteenth century. By doing so, he affiliates the masculinity of an aged man more closely with the honor, or respect, of cultural antiquation than with what Nochlin would interpret as the decay of the Orient.

Fortuny’s somewhat somber representation of the idle man recalls the paintings of saints, such as Saint Andrew from ca. 1631 by Ribera that he copied at the Prado (Figure 23). Ribera’s painting is defined by the anatomical expressivity granted by the artist’s virtuosity with tenebrism. Brushstrokes emphasize the weathered skin of the saint’s exposed torso, its corporeality at once humanizing and deifying the suffering of the respected martyr. This seventeenth-century work is well known as the inspiration to Fortuny’s Nude Old Man in the Sun

(Figure 24), a painting that, in turn, possesses similar qualities (and perhaps the same model) as

Opium Smoker. The similarities in corporeal rendering of Fortuny’s old men with Ribera’s saints, including Saint Andrew, provide them with a pious attribution that affiliates their apparent suffering, semi-nude and on the street, with sacrifice and honor, rather than backwardness and laziness. Fortuny’s reference to Spanish religious painting elevates nineteenth-century Orientalist 59 street types to the status of subjects worthy of great history painting, all the while stripping down tropes of idleness in Orientalism.

Considering that the reclined figure within Opium Smoker is paired with an elaborate and colorfully painted textile, the painting could be read as a prideful symbol of antiquation. Rather than the figure’s stagnancy signifying Fortuny’s perception of Morocco’s lack of progress, as

Nochlin may interpret it, the moribundity could represent the natural passing of time as a nod to

Spain’s legacy and historical importance in the world. How different the painting looks without this richly decorated textile framing the old man, as in the related work, Faithful Friends (Figure

25). The decrepitude of the figure, perhaps impacted by the effect of the opium in his pipe, is no longer masked by the brilliance of the textile and the reminder of cultural significance. The staging of masculinity with opulent ornamentation, just as Fortuny did in Arab Leaning Against a Tapestry, bolsters notions of cultural fitness and internationalism. By doing so, Fortuny redefined categorizations of an idle, decadent, Orientalized Spain, into characterizations for which Spaniards were proud.

How, then, do those paintings like Faithful Friends and Nude Old Man in the Sun, that lack the accompanying beautification of ornament, operate in Fortuny’s oeuvre? Thematically, perhaps they repeat the Orientalist stereotypes of decline, with their portrayals of collapsing architecture and exposed, sun-stricken torsos. Yet within the contexts of Fortuny’s other works, it is feasible that they suggest Fortuny’s rumination on the Southern nature of a Spaniard, more closely affiliated with the reclined street types basking in the pleasure of the sun than the

Northern colonialists preoccupied with the domination of the world. Of course, with Fortuny being a Catalan artist, and somewhat aligned with the North, his equation of southern Spain and 60

North Africa points to the complexities of Spanish Orientalism. His is at once romanticizing the

South while exploring ‘the Other within.’

Representations of masculinity in Fortuny’s Orientalism suggest a reckoning with the

Othering of Spain through his exploration of self that both embraces and rejects his connection to the rest of Europe. Fortuny’s masquerade as a Moroccan soldier upon his return from the war was a form of role play later augmented by his devout collecting of Islamic decorative objects in the following years. While the artist was very much participating as an actor on the Orientalist stage, his approach to the Islamic world with representations of male figures and decorative objects was one that was very much rooted in reality. The simultaneous embracing of the international trend of maurofilia and an inward reflection on Spanishness in Fortuny’s Orientalist paintings mirrors Spain’s own meditation on its Islamic past. While the evident infrastructural decay of Morocco in his paintings may fall in line with what Nochlin considers a commentary on the nation’s decline, the pairing of Moroccan figures with rich textiles that Fortuny prized shows a more positive approach to the passing of time, a notion bolstered by the reappearing motif of the aged man as a symbol of Spain’s long trajectory of history.

Essential to Spain’s second-wave of nation building in the nineteenth century was the appropriation of materials of its heterogenous history which reinforced the impression of richness and wealth to the rest of Europe. Spanish modernity thus rested on this ‘performance’ of materialism within the ‘theater’ of the past, a paradox on which Chapter 3 further elaborates. The final chapter culminates with Fortuny’s work in Andalusia, a site well-fit to embody the simultaneity of contemporary trends toward populism and the evocation of Spain’s Moorish past in the visual arts.

Chapter 3: Fortuny in Granada, between Costumbrismo and Orientalismo

“Each morning we go to the divine Alhambra, where the walls are of lace, tinted with amethyst

rose in the morning, of diamonds at noon, and greenish gold and ruddy copper at sunset.”94

-Fortuny, in a 1869 letter to the Duchess Colonna

“He went, intending to stay two months, and remained two years—the happiest of his life, as he

assured his friends.”95

-Lissie Champney in the Century

Illustrated Monthly Magazine of 1881-1882

Fortuny and his family settled in Granada in June 1870 at the Fonda de los Siete Suelos, an inn just beyond the door to the Alhambra that holds the same name.96 Fortuny, like so many artists and writers before him, was inspired by the city. Its picturesque vistas, which he could contemplate from his residence; the quiet, slow-paced way of Andalusian life; its vibrant folkloric traditions; and enchanting medieval architecture all allowed Fortuny to experience what was commonly the visitor’s idealized view of Andalusia as an exotic and dreamlike locale, temporally rewound, and distanced from the rest of Spain and Europe. Like Fortuny, tourists in the nineteenth century were lured to Granada by the romanticism that the local and traditional aspects of the city offered as an escape from the rapidly changing and industrializing world,

94 Mariano Fortuny to the Duchess Colonna, 1869, as quoted in Champney, “In the Footsteps of Fortuny and Regnault,” 29.

95 Champney, “In the Footsteps of Fortuny and Regnault,” 29.

96 Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 84. 62 despite southern Spain’s participation in many modernizing tendencies, including the catering to this tourist market. To appeal to growing foreign taste, artists throughout the nineteenth century manufactured a boiled down and easily consumable representation of Andalusia that became synonymous with the identity of greater Spain. Artists perpetuated Spanishness through costumbrismo, the pictorial representation of everyday life and culture. Their scenes of

Andalusian types participating in customary activities became highly desired to European audiences across the continent.

Travel literature from the Romantic period, texts such as Washington Irving’s The

Alhambra (1832), Richard Ford’s Hand-Book for Travellers in Spain (1845), and—written the year Fortuny first went to Morocco—Théophile Gautier’s Voyage en Espagne (1859), illustrated

Granada as a location “whose name alone makes the heaviest and dullest man in all the world break out into exclamations of admiration, and dance on one leg for delight.”97 But foreigners also saw Andalusia as a place imbued with “neglect and desolation, moral and physical, which it is painful to contemplate… pride and laziness are here as everywhere the keys to poverty.”98 The duality of Granada being both romanticized and patronized by foreigners created positive and negative associations to the stereotypes that Spaniards then perpetuated within stock images of

Andalusia. In José Luis Venegas’s comprehensive study on the paradoxes of Andalusia, he notes that “commercial advertising and the popular press brought this image [of a picturesque

97 Théophile Gautier, Wanderings in Spain, trans. Thomas Robert McQuoid (London: Ingram, Cooke, and, 1853), Electronic, 396.

98 Richard Ford, Gatherings from Spain, (London: J. Murray, 1851), 8. 63

Andalusia that embodied a timeless national character] to the pantry, the dinner table, and the family room.”99 The stereotype of Andalusia was for European tourists and locals alike.

While playing into some stereotypes that made them a desirable nation, Spaniards also sought to combat those that painted a less than ideal picture of their character. For example, Los españoles pintados por sí mismos, a collection of illustrated national types from 1843-44, aimed to “correct alien misconceptions about Spain while alerting Spaniards to beware of the invasion of French fashion and ideas following Napoleon’s troops.”100 Nonetheless, Venegas reads many of the Spanish types illustrated in Los españoles pintados por sí mismos as similar to the very stereotypes the book intended to dispel, such as those marked by their lower-class, southern temperament, and ‘darker’ ethnicities, including the bullfighter, the bandit, the smuggler, and the gypsy. 101 The illustrations thus encapsulated the essence of Spanishness as being distinct from

Frenchness—the center of European fashion—and, despite the regional differences present across the nation, best epitomized by the local, Andalusian character that captivated tourists.

Following Los españoles pintados por sí mismos, Spaniards continued to exploit the country’s romantic qualities in the visual arts, a market on which Fortuny also capitalized. In a

1872 letter from Granada he states to Davillier, “One sees that the taste for painting grows, for here, where there are no painters, buyers are numerous; above all, foreigners who come to see

99 José Luis Venegas, Sublime South: Andalusia, Orientalism, and the Making of Modern Spain (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2018), 112.

100 Ibid., 21.

101 Ibid. 64 the Alhambra.”102 Even after his death, Fortuny’s work perpetuated the image of Andalusia to

Europe. At the 1878 Universal Exhibition in Paris, Raymundo de Madrazo exhibited Fortuny’s work alongside decorative elements that encompassed “all the picturesque details [of the

Alhambra and the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba] that an orientalist could desire.”103 The allure of the palace and the taste for the South by both travelers and Spaniards afforded Fortuny the opportunity to explore Spanishness at once as it was related to Andalusia’s Moorish past and to uncover the nuances of contemporary Spanish national identity in relation to Europe.

This chapter looks at the works of Fortuny’s Andalusian period to investigate the liminal space his Orientalist subject matter occupied. Andalusia, with its a transitory position between geographies and temporalities, Europeanness and Otherness, was in many ways also a landing place for Fortuny whose career was defined by back and forth travels between Catalonia, his home; Madrid, the capital of Spain; Rome, his second home; Paris, the center of European culture and fashion; and Morocco, the treasure box of his inspiration. Being a Northerner,

Andalusia held some romance for Fortuny, but his intellectual understanding of how an ‘exotic’

Andalusia stood in for greater Spain also allowed the artist to integrate the Moroccan subject into representations of Spanishness. Taking into consideration the fluidity of Fortuny’s identity due to his peripatetic life, the challenge to and activation of Said’s notion of Orientalist theatricality prove paramount, once more, to understanding expressions of difference and sameness in

Fortuny’s work. Participating in different forms of what I call staged realisms, Fortuny’s subject matter fluctuates from depictions of typified eighteenth-century actors and timeless

102 Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 114.

103 Venegas, The Sublime South, 22.

65 costumbrismo scenes to constructed performances of fifteenth-century Moors and contemporary

Moroccan street life. At times his works blur the lines of genre, but always mimic a constructed, yet ever-oscillating, identity of Andalusia. The works of historical Moorish subjects dabble in broad European visual modes of eighteenth-century theatricality in addition to that tradition of local Spanish costumbrismo. I align the theatricality of Orientalism, denigrated by Said as a problematic consequence to the colonizer’s vision, to the innately theatrical character of

Andalusia. By considering Fortuny’s Moorish characters as popular subjects participating the

‘performance’ of Andalusian identity, bolstered by the perception of its deep-seeded connection to the Arab world, this chapter illustrates the various visual slippages within Fortuny’s work that reflect the shifting identity of Andalusia, and greater Spain, in between temporalities and geographies.

To address Andalusian identity, this chapter looks at Fortuny’s Orientalism through the lens of philosopher José Ortega y Gasset’s concept of Andalusian paradise in Teoría de

Andalucía from 1927. In the prelude to his essay, Ortega y Gasset draws a parallel between

Andalusia to China, though not to suggest a shared exoticism. Rather, Ortega y Gasset calls attention to the long-lived cultural vivacity of these regions “on the opposite extremes of the

Eurasian mass.”104 Both, he argues, have used the “mattress tactic” over the course of millennium, accepting militaristic opposition with such softness that the result is the absorption of the enemy into the ever-sustained culture of its original inhabitants.105 While the link to China is somewhat superficial and lacking in substantiation (he fails to mention that Seville served as

104 José Ortega y Gasset, Teoría de Andalucía y otros ensayos (Madrid: Revista de Occidente, 1952), 19.

105 Ibid., 23. 66 the primary port where objects from Asia, among other places, arrived), Ortega y Gasset’s ultimate suggestion is that due to its docility, Andalusia has maintained the same timeless traits that both he, in 1927, and Fortuny, in 1871, encountered in the region, just as countless observers had known before them. In turn, the explanation of Andalusian longevity supports the defense of the perception of Andalusian idleness. The docility of the region that Ortega y Gasset argues has led to its sustainability was the result of the fact that Andalusia “always ended up intoxicating with its delight the rough impetus of the invader.”106 “Andalusians,” he writes, “are the only people in the West who remain faithful to a paradisiacal ideal of life.”107

Throughout the nineteenth century, costumbrismo was, in many ways, the visual representation of the performance of that “paradisiacal ideal,” that many tourists sought out. Luis

Fernández Cifuentes points to the disappointment of a Northern European writer, the Dane Hans

Christian Andersen, in the Parisian characteristics of the Central and Northern Spanish cities of

Madrid and Barcelona, which he visited in 1862. Despite his travels in the southern cities of

Andalusia being marked by “mostly unpleasant moments and bitter feelings,” due to the what

Fernández Cifuentes described as the “dark and yet overwhelmingly visible side of Southern idleness” (beggars harassing tourists), Andersen discovered there what he believed to be a far more authentic version of Spain, defined by the “overwhelming visual presence of all things

Oriental—be they natural, such as the climate and the landscape, or cultural, such as the architecture and customs.”108 While the customs that Andersen is so keen to label as the ‘real’

106 Ibid.

107 Ibid.

108 Luis Fernández Cifuentes, “Southern exposure: early tourism and Spanish national identity,” Journal of Iberian and Latin American Studies 13, no. 2-3 (2007): 137-138. 67

Spain are not Oriental in their similarity to “any Arabian locale between Marrakech and

Baghdad,” they appealed to his sense of awe for the fact that, in Andersen’s words, “‘life was lived here exactly as it had been [centuries ago].’”109 The slippage between reality and imaginary is where the visual systems of costumbrismo (as the depiction of the Andalusian paradisiacal ideal) and Orientalism (the representation of time and place ‘Othered’ by distance) overlap, and the space within which Fortuny’s Granada pictures vacillate.

In 1872, Manuel Wssel de Guimbarda, a follower of Fortuny, created Costumbrista Scene in the Alcázar of Seville (Figure 26), a painting that befittingly demonstrates the overlap of

Orientalism and costumbrismo. The conflation of the two visual modes is particularly effective in representations of southern Spain due to the appeal of the region in which Jewish, Christian, and

Islamic cultures intersected, transcending set religious associations to create a heterogenous flavor that was simultaneously exotic and local.110 Wssel stages a chorus of figures, each one embodying a different Andalusian stereotype, in front of a colorfully and intricately tiled mudéjar style wall. The geometric and inscriptive pattering of the tiling appears Islamic but is, in fact, a Christian architectural variation from the fourteenth century, an appropriation of Moorish aesthetics which, five hundred years later, continued to function as an ideal setting for Wssel to stage an Orientalized scene. The beauty of the wall matches the vibrantly colored, flamenco- dancing girls who unite the observing vieja gitana (old gypsy), torero (bullfighter), and buñolera

(fritter seller). Tradition and leisure displayed by these exotic, popular types, presented on an elaborate Orientalist stage, are the combining factors that unite Orientalism and costumbrismo in

Andalusian imagery.

109 Ibid.

110 Guimbarda was a Cuban-born Spaniard who lived in Seville from 1867 to 1886. 68

A prolific period for Fortuny, the artist’s two years in Granada resulted in the production of numerous works in the costumbrista tradition, as well as some of his most important

Orientalist paintings, including La Tribunal de la Alhambra (Figure 27), Slaying of the

Abencerrajes (Figure 28), and Arab Musicians (Figure 29). Those of the second category show

Fortuny’s evolving approach to the Orientalist subject matter to which his experience in Granada presented new material. For one, the setting of the Alhambra was ideal. The defunct Nasrid palace and doorway into Spain’s ancient Moorish past lent itself well as the stage for the

Orientalist theater that Fortuny produced. Furthermore, the presence of Andalusian regional types as depicted in costumbrista scenes characterized “connotations of past customs and traditions while denoting present habits and daily routines,” as Vanesa Rodríguez Galindo has noted, and served fittingly as models on which Fortuny could base his Orientalist actors, who were similarly performers of their own identities.111 As a result of Granada’s picturesque offerings, Fortuny’s paintings of scenes in the Alhambra possess a timelessness that establishes a link between his historical subjects and those scenes of daily life that he depicted from the

Andalusian and Moroccan regions. At first glance one may ask: are these paintings of Spain, or could they be of Morocco? Is this scene taking place in the fifteenth century, or could it very well be 1871? Fortuny’s vision, I argue, was both.

Perfectly encapsulating the conflation of past and present, of Spain and Morocco, is one of the Alhambra scenes Fortuny painted in 1871, titled La Tribunal de la Alhambra (see Figure

27). Fortuny’s sketchbooks illustrate that he studied the architectural details of the palace with

111 Vanesa Rodríguez-Galindo, "On and off the Tram: Contemporary Types and Customs in Madrid's Illustrated and Satirical Press (1874-1898)," in Visual Typologies from the Early Modern to the Contemporary: Local Contexts and Global Practices, edited by Tara Zanardi and Lynda Klich (New York: Routledge, 2019), 66. 69 meticulous attention. Scholars have noted, however, that La Tribunal presents a combination of spaces throughout the Alhambra, including the Patio del Mexuar and the Patio del Cuarto

Dorado, and thus is a construction by Fortuny of a stage on which to set an imagined moment, aestheticized by his rendering of light and texture within the already picturesque Alhambra. Yet the scene Fortuny portrays is without a grand storyline or moralizing anecdote as historical pictures often contain. The plot of La Tribunal is rather nonexistent, a typical trait of costumbrista art; a guard crouches on the ground overseeing two prisoners across the courtyard who lay on their backs, while other figures sit within the building in the background. Fortuny certainly attempted to adhere to historical accuracy—he gathered information on the costumes of the Moors, specifically requesting Davillier to search the Seances de Hariri, a thirteenth-century manuscript that includes miniatures of Muslim life, for “Arabic or Moorish costumes,” and subsequently thanked him for materials—yet he fabricated this scene.112 In the painting, the figures are inactive, sitting around and not engaging with each other. This lack of drama recalls the artist’s paintings and drawings from the streets of Tangier in the 1860s. In 1871 Fortuny painted a study of the captives’ horse saddles—his estate sale in Rome shows that he owned “dos sillas de montar orientales”—using a still life of objects from his own life to bring a sense of

Realism into the scene.113 The painted sunlight emanating from above and illuminating the wall serves to suggest the passing of time. The sense of stillness in the reflection of the guard in the viewing pond exudes the quietude of this place, suggesting how the slightest movement would reverberate a hollow echo throughout the space. Nevertheless, nothing happens. La Tribunal

112 Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 97.

113 Carlos G. Navarro, “Testamentaría e inventario de bienes de Mariano Fortuny en Roma,” Locus Amoenus 9 (2007-2008): 340 70 expresses little more than what the fixed figures have to offer. Contained by the stage of

Fortuny’s imagining, they are archetypes of their environment, rather than heroes or villains in any particular story from the past or present. Fortuny’s painting is at once typically costumbrista—the ‘staged’ construction of a scene combined with the sense of historical accuracy is typical to the genre—while, with the absence of a narrative and focus on mundane subjects, simultaneously participating in the modern mode of Realism.114

The perplexing experience of looking at, deciphering, or categorizing some of Fortuny’s works is due, in part, to visual devices deployed by the artist that depart from historical representations of the Alhambra. Considering the trajectory of artistic visual approaches to the palace complex over time, Vázquez outlines a transition from late-eighteenth-century prints, in which the palace rooms are depicted as large, empty, and “spatially exaggerated,” to those in the second third of the nineteenth century that present picturesque views, in which “the act of viewing and examining take center stage.”115 Take, for example the quintessentially romantic lithograph of the Alhambra by English artist John Frederick Lewis, “Distant view of the Sierra

Nevada” from 1836 (Figure 30). Vázquez notes that the composition frames the very act of viewing, with the figure’s contorted positioning signifying her longing for the distant view of the

Alhambra. The view Lewis painted was “not as we would be able to see it from this particular point,” but a romanticized and aestheticized representation.116

114 Zanardi and Klich discuss the similarities between costumbrismo and Realism, which not only overlap chronologically, but visually and thematically. Both popular artistic styles in the mid-nineteenth century, costumbrismo and Realism elevate working class subjects through the representation of the mundane. See Klich and Zanardi, “Introduction,” Visual Typologies.

115 Oscar E. Vázquez, “Vision, Lamentation and Nineteenth-century Representations of the End of al-Andalus,” Art in Translation 9, no. 1 (2017): 79.

116 Ibid., 76. 71

Fortuny’s pictures of the Alhambra date to the end of the Romantic movement yet reject those of his immediate predecessors of the decades prior that Vázquez details. His focus on enclosed interiors, specifically courtyards, responds to the Romantics of the previous generation by obstructing what Vázquez considers their evocation of melancholy in the perceived depth of visuality. Walls contain Fortuny’s scenes within the Alhambra, blocking the viewer from the vistas that may arouse sensations of loss and memory tied to the Romantic movement. The layers of containment are a device that allows Fortuny to use the Alhambra as setting for his Orientalist creations. The many walls Fortuny uses to do so he ornaments with tiles that are unlike those

‘repaired’ by Gérôme and described by Nochlin in her essay “The Imaginary Orient” (see

Chapter 2).117 Executed in the dabbled preciosismo painting style, these decorations are neither determinably new nor in disrepair; they glisten without affording the viewer too much detail to decipher the state of their condition that would simultaneously suggest a particular moment in time and conjure up feelings of nostalgia. The presence of Moors and the complete absence of

European explorers or nineteenth-century Spaniards would indicate that these paintings look to the medieval era, yet the lack of narrative recalls the genre of Realism à la mode. The staging and implied Realisms lead to the resulting sense of temporal and geographical oscillation—what

Susan Martin-Márquez deems the “disorientations” of Orientalism from the Spanish perspective—preventing the viewer from ever being able to place the subject fully.118 Such

117 See Nochlin, “The Imaginary Orient,” 38-39.

118 See Martin-Márquez, Disorientations, 9. 72 ambiguity is symbolic of modern Spanish national identity as a whole, which Noël Maureen

Valis characterizes as “the feeling of being caught in between two ways of existence.”119

In Fortuny’s Granada paintings, theatricality helps to fix representations of Spanishness alongside what is otherwise left abstract, such as time and place. The Slaying of the Abencerrajes

(see Figure 28) a painting with a more defined action taking place in the Hall of the Abencerrajes in the Alhambra, mythologizes the massacre of the noblest Moorish family of the fifteenth century. This tale of particular interest to nineteenth-century writers had for centuries been altered by Spaniards to fit a more Romantic vision of the Reconquest. Despite its roots in history, the narrative remains loose, a fact further bolstered by the painting being left in a rough, unfinished state.120 Nevertheless, Fortuny sets the historical drama in an enclosed courtyard, a structure that mimics a stage with artificial lighting evenly flooding the space. To stage right, so to speak, a barely discernible mass of figures scrambles to enter or exit the spotlight through an arched doorway. Behind the colonnade in the far background is a painted wall portraying a violent affair, again too indistinct to make out the specifics, but perhaps a predictor of what had just unfolded. A young boy with a bowed head and distended belly leaning against one of the columns recalls one of the more visually striking sketches of figures that Fortuny recorded in his notebook from Morocco (Figure 31). This nod to the Moroccan War of 1860 in a historical painting of the Moorish empire in fifteenth-century Spain is a reminder of the longevity of

Spain’s connection to its neighbor to the south. It also suggests that Vázquez interprets Fortuny’s approach to the subject as a representation of the “implied barbarism in the history of the Nasrid

119 Noë l Maureen Valis, The Culture of Cursilería: Bad Taste, Kitsch, and Class in Modern Spain (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), 9.

120 See Barbara Matulka, “On the European Diffusion of the "Last of the Abencerrajes" Story in the Sixteenth Century,” Hispania 16, no. 4 (November – December, 1933): 369-388. 73 empire,” one that “fits comfortably within traditional constructions of Orientalism.”121 Vázquez compares such “themes of Reconquest,” to “representations of the first encounters in the New

World,” that were “employed by art critics, and promoted by monarchical and state patronage, and by politicians as strategic reminders of Spain’s past cultural hegemony, political sovereignty, and the nation’s place in the initiation of modern European history.”122 Regnault’s incredibly gory Execution without Trial under the Moor Kings of Granada (1870; Figure 32), which depicts the same historical event of the Abencerrajes family albeit in a more horrifically up-close fashion famously marked by a bloody decapitation, certainly abides to Vázquez’s theory of traditional

Orientalism as being infused with more professedly violent imagery (see, also, Chapter 1). But in the specifically Spanish case for Fortuny, Granada, as a place of both his nation’s past and own present, perhaps allowed for him to envision Andalusia with deeper scrutiny as he staged histories and recorded realities.

Adopting the perspective of Ortega y Gasset, I assert the painting as a drama that satisfies the theatrical character of Andalusian allure in costumbrista art, which also celebrated bullfighting imagery. The courtyard certainly possesses the traits of an enclosure set for a performance. Does the slain Moor lying across the foreground of the painting, splashed with vibrant red paint, not recall the image of the defeated torero (see Édouard Manet’s 1864 Dead

Toreador, Figure 33)? Do the flurry of figures in the entryway not bear resemblance to an agitated toro fleeing the ring or matadors coming to the rescue? Kristine Ibsen likens the forms in Manet’s Execution of Maximillian to a spectacle within the theater, the bullfight, and the

121 Vázquez, “Vision, Lamentation,” 84.

122 Ibid. 74 public execution, each of which are “dependent upon the complicity of the audience.”123 As a departure from Fortuny’s earlier works, the staged nature of the Slaying of the Abencerrajes and his other Granada scenes within the Alhambra relies on the “theatrical distance” of spectators within the canvas to offer “an aesthetic of perception that invites the actual spectator to admit that perceived reality, and truth itself, is always subjective and unstable.”124 Reading the Slaying of the Abencerrajes on the metaphorical and pictorial levels as both a painting of a historical massacre and a bullfight scene, Vázquez’s interpretation of barbarism remains valid. But perhaps

Fortuny’s painting is less so defined by the violence of either scenario than its display of such, or a theatrical expression of a dramatic event the artist may have found intrinsic to the identity of

Andalusia. The performance of Orientalism—imbued with Vázquez’s “barbarism,” or likened to

Said’s “actors in a play”—thus also satisfies the very ‘performance’ of Andalusia as a romantic destination defined by the drama infused in its architecture, history, and rich culture that foreigners came to consume. In short, Andalusia was in the eighteen-seventies just as staged as a play, or a bullfight for that matter.

The bullfight in Spain was, and continues to be, a customary practice integral to national identity. By the early nineteenth century, toreros had obtained celebrity status. Simultaneously, a debate arose on the brutality and lack of sophistication surrounding the tradition, equating that which was popular to the characterization of backwardness in Spain by some Spanish intellectuals. As Goya’s print series, Tauromáquia, overviews, the history that led to such glorification of the torero and subsequent national debate, stemmed from the practice of

123 Kristine Ibsen, “Spectacle and Spectator in Édouard Manet's "Execution of Maximilian,” Oxford Art Journal 29, no. 2 (2006): 225-226.

124 Ibsen, “Spectacle and Spectator, 216. 75 bullfighting that some intellectuals believed to have started with the Moors in Spain (others linked it to the Ancient Romans). The similarities of the narrative within Slaying of the

Abencerrajes to the dramatic and performative nature of a bullfight convey that the painting is just as much Spanish as it is Orientalist, with the figure of the torero, a mainstay typology of costumbrista imagery, taking center stage. The embedded theatricality of this image is what makes it distinctly Spanish and, I argue, determinedly modern.

Fortuny’s interest in the type may have evolved out of what Tara Zanardi stresses is the importance of majismo in the eighteenth century. A cultural phenomenon surrounding the visual imagery of types that embody the national character of Spain, majismo “helped forge a perception of a collective Spanishness.”125 Images of men and women carrying out common behaviors related to their identities, such as the torero at the bullfight, were national types for the fact that they were “rooted in collective climatic, religious, and cultural commonalities.”126 In the eighteenth century types were unstable because “definitions of the Spanish national character varied, making evaluations of who embodied such qualities more difficult to assess,” and were thus “manipulated to relay fears or express pride.” 127 In the nineteenth century, the increased generalization of these typologies, as well as the subsequent introduction of new urban types, eventually caused their morphing into more rigid national iconographies.128 The typified actors of costumbrista scenes that included, in addition to the torero, the flamenco-dancing and guitar-

125 Tara Zanardi, Framing Majismo Art and Royal Identity in Eighteenth-century Spain (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2016), 6.

126 Ibid.

127 Ibid.

128 Ibid. On the new urban types see Rodriguez-Galindo. 76 playing gypsies (gitana and gitano, respectively), each possessed broadly defined origins to their character and were easily applicable by artists to represent Spain as a whole. They could at once present stereotypes based on some sort of truth to Andalusian reality, while transforming into timeless, idealized characterizations of Spain that attracted tourists but were ambiguous in their authenticity. The malleability of the type thus presents the possibility for Fortuny to apply them also to his Orientalist pictures and to conflate generalizations of North Africa and Southern

Spain.

As is well documented by Fortuny’s letters to his friends, collected and published by

Davillier, the young artist found the costumbrista-invoking scenes he encountered in Andalusia enthralling. In November 1870, Fortuny writes to Martín Rico, calling on him to join him in

Granada for “it is more picturesque than Seville.”129 In March the following year he writes to

Davillier and deems Granada “an inexhaustible mine” of material.130 Key to Fortuny’s interest in absorbing the picturesque Andalusian experience was his understanding of local Andalusian typologies. Fortuny’s next letter to Davillier mentions their meeting in Sevilla at the Feria, a fair

“which attracts every year thousands from every part of Andalusia, where types and the most picturesque costume abound.” Davillier describes their participation:

Raymundo de Madrazo was with us; the two brothers-in-law started in the morning, taking with them their color boxes, and rivaled each other in charming studies of popular types: such as bronze complexioned Gypies, and pretty buñoleras in parti-colored costumes, who displayed many coquettish tricks to draw passers-by to their tents.131

129 Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 89.

130 Ibid., 93

131 Ibid., 111-112. 77

One such “bronze complexioned” woman may be the subject of Fortuny’s 1870 painting,

Gypsy Girl Dancing in a Garden (Figure 34). Fortuny uses the visual aid of a commanding backdrop to shallow the space of the pictorial plane, hindering the ability of the viewer to place this woman in the specific location in which she dances (likely a courtyard, but where?) and giving a staged quality that indicates this scene is a performance. The generic setting of a garden within a courtyard is determined by scenic details, such as the wall ‘painted’ in foliage, structural detail of the outer-edge of a fountain, and background figures that function just as much as subsidiary props as the flowerpots they accompany. The confinement of the space also lends well to highlighting the decorative elements of the painting, a nod to the artist’s growing interest in

Japonisme.132 The dabbled blossoms of the plantings balance the composition and frame the colorful, patterned dress draped elegantly across the gypsy’s body as she delicately dances across the stage.

Adding to the ornamental surface of the canvas is the Islamic vase in the background.

The implicit connection between the Islamic vase and dancing gypsy through their patterned, colorful surfaces suggests to the viewer that Andalusian identity and Arab exoticism are deeply intertwined. Southern Spain in the mid-1800s was home to a significant population of Roma gitanos, branded erroneously by many travel writers as “successors to the Moors, and members of a similarly moribund race, incapable of entry into modernity.”133 Performative expressions of identity, such as “Gitano-inspired activity and dress” that defined flamenquismo, placed the

132 On Fortuny’s interest in Japonisme, the craze for Japanese art that impacted visual aesthetic modes in the nineteenth century, and for a comprehensive historiography on this subject see Ricard Bru, "Marià Fortuny and Japanese Art," Journal of Japonisme 1, no. 2 (2016): 155- 185.

133 Susan Martín-Marquez, Disorientations, 152. 78 gypsy in “the imaginary space previously occupied by the Moor, if not in the mind of antiquarians, at least in the popular imaginations.”134 While in some ways gitanos ‘darkened’ southern Spain and stood in as a living link between Spain and the Arab world, they also symbolized the stereotypical representation of Andalusia. Shared characteristics of the Roma and

Andalusian populations within cities like Granada gave way to what Bernard Leblon calls the

“Gypsy-Andalusian ‘osmosis,’” a back-and-forth transfer of identity within which the music, dance, and song were very much a part.135 The courtyard, like in Fortuny’s painting Gypsy Girl, was a common setting for the performance of the bolero (dance) of the gitano/a. Gypsy Girl is thus a typically costumbrista scene that participates in what I refer to as the ‘performance of

Andalusia,’ or the region’s expression of identity as a place in between. Moreover, such festive costumbrista scenes of Orientalized Andalusian figures performing their typology also permitted the entry of Moorish figures, contemporary Moroccans, or some conflation of the two, into representations of Spanishness.

Fortuny’s interest in local and popular subjects, such as the gitano type, was clear as he worked on the third of the three paintings of Moors in the Alhambra, for it is at this point he expresses to his friend and contemporary Spanish artist, Martín Rico, his frustration with historical subject matter:

Granada, January 10, 1872 To Mons. Martín Rico. Dear Martín: —We are always very well here. I work enough, and in the evening I paint Aquarelles. I have sketched an interior with Arab musicians, and possibly it may turn out tolerably well, but I am so tired of making ancient Moors, that I think of stopping them. It

134 Lou Charnon-Deutsch, The Spanish Gypsy: The History of a European Obsession (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2004), 181.

135 Bernard Leblon, Gypsies and Flamenco: The Emergence of the Art of Flamenco in Andalusia (Paris: Gypsy Research Centre, 1995), 43. 79

is possible I may attempt to paint some modern subject. Goyena has sent me some very interesting embroideries, one alter-piece and some chasubles, which I believe to be of the time of Isabella, the Catholic, and perhaps even more ancient. It is a tissue woven with shackles of gold, like that which covers the cuirass, said to be Boabdil’s, in the armory at Madrid. Your friend, Fortuny136

The exalting declaration “I am so tired of making ancient Moors,” followed by Fortuny’s expression of his growing interest in more modern subjects, yet continued obsession with fabrics of historical periods, reflects the artist’s combined fascination with both the past and the contemporary. Symbolic of a myriad of tensions within Spain during this time (the conflation of gypsy and Moor demonstrated above; the effort to advance industrially while perpetuating the romantic stereotype of Spain; the desire to Europeanize but also stand apart; conflicting liberalisms and conservatisms of the time), Fortuny’s interests reflect the very ambiguity that marks Spanish modernity. How fitting that Arab Musicians (see Figure 29), which was indeed left unfinished (and appears ever more modern looking for being so), encompasses the temporal, pictorial, and thematic disjunctions that Fortuny describes in his comments to Rico.

Backdropped like Gypsy Girl by an imposing wall that pushes forward the frieze-like composition, this largely two-dimensional space was left by Fortuny almost entirely as a cartoon, the only exception being the motif of the two musicians, fully executed in oil and standing out vibrantly against the ink washed surface of their surroundings. The artist’s intention to portray two musicians performing for one of the ancient kings of Granada was once again an imagined storyline generalizing the subject of the painting. The sketched details, such as the armor overhead and stretching tiger before the two men, indicate to the viewer the grandeur of the stage

Fortuny intended to create. Yet how fitting for an artist far less concerned with exuding regality

136 Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 109. 80 than with capturing the realism of everyday subjects through materiality and atmospheric effects that he finished the two musicians and never executed the elements that would suggest to the viewer for whom they were performing. Like with Fortuny’s other pictures of historical Moors, the inspiration for the figures came from sketches made the year prior on a visit to Tangier, giving the canvas a contemporary setting that the unfinished surface allows the viewers to imagine. Inspired by the modern moment and removed from the constructed historical context within the walls of the Alhambra, the musicians materialize as generalized types of Al-Andalus, performers of customary regional music from a not so distant past, and very much stemming from the lineage of costumbrista tradition.

Neither here nor there, now nor then, the figures in Arab Musicians enter the lineage of the costumbrista type of the guitar-playing, lower-class subject.137 With roots in Spanish golden age genre paintings, such as The Three Musicians by Velázquez (Figure 35), the timeless motif of the guitarist is a symbol of folkloric tradition and popular entertainment. Often paired, as in

The Three Musicians, with merry celebrations involving food and drink, the guitarist is the evocator of universality and humanism. While in one sense generalized, the guitar players of

Fortuny’s Arab Musicians are also localized. The Arab garb they wear makes them distinctly non-Spanish (in the contemporary sense), but the instruments they hold may be the oud and kemenjah, which are two components of the Arab-Andalusian musical ensemble. Furthermore,

Leblon notes there are “vivid traces of exchange between Arabic music and Andalusian folklore.”138As the classical style of music in Morocco that developed out of Muslim Iberia

137 Zanardi, Framing Majismo, 45.

138 Leblon, Gypsies and Flamenco, 69.

81 between the ninth and fifteenth centuries, Arab-Andalusian music also influenced the rise of flamenco popularized at this time. Fortuny’s reference to flamenco thus also points to a contemporary bond between the cultures of Morocco and Spain. Within the nineteenth century, instruments including the lute and guitar in both southern Spain and Morocco connected flamenco to an Arab lineage. Fortuny’s assertion that he has moved on from ancient narratives to modern subjects, with the continued devotion to traditional costumes and material culture, aptly summarizes how his Orientalist subjects embrace local commonalities across the region, while also suggesting the notion of ‘the Other within’ via this process of Orientalizing Andalusia, which stood in for greater Spain.

The motif of the two Arab musicians exists among Fortuny’s oeuvre of portraying performers in theatrical genre scenes, participating in traditional leisurely customs. Dispersed throughout this corpus are characters of the same visual trajectory but in eighteenth-century costume, from which the costumbrista tradition and Fortuny’s own interest in the subject evolved. His most famously lauded painting, La Vicaria (Figure 36), depicts a Spanish wedding where the bride and groom are accompanied by a number of Spanish types: Auntie Pelonas,

“draped in ‘touch-me-not’ clothes”; an espada, “judging by the richness of his costume, and the proud nonchalance of his manner”; a manola, “lolling with a pretentious air”; and “some men…clothed in the dress of a majo, who appear to belong to the company of bullfighter.”139

Fortuny’s lesser known “fan with scene of gallantry” (Figure 37) conserved by the Museu

Nacional d’Art de Catalunya and created by the artist in Paris prior to moving to Granada, portrays a serenade by a man to a woman, both clothed in typical theatrical costume, perhaps looking to Watteau’s theatrical scenes of the commedia dell’arte. The mother-of-pearl rivet

139 Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 80-83. 82 delicately displays the leaves on which Fortuny painted this scene of rococo beauty; the soft brushwork matches the sense of whimsicality as well as the fragility of the fan itself; and the flattened pictorial place was inspired, no doubt, by Fortuny’s growing interest in Japonisme.

While La Vicaria is distinctly Spanish for its representations of Spanish types, the fan is distinctly international. An accessory with a strong affiliation to the representation of

Spanishness (Zanardi argues its history began in Spain with artisanal production and importation from China and Japan, centuries prior to France’s dominating the export market in the eighteenth century), fans ultimately existed across Europe as a symbol of femininity and coquettishness that transcended national boundaries due to its prevalence in Spain, France, and non-European sources such as China and Japan.140 Fortuny’s producing of a fan as an art object supplements the painted imagery’s reference to fête galante scenes. The excessive theatricality of serenading, parading, and flaunting along with the exuberant materials affiliated with an effective performance of typology in these eighteenth-century scenes provided one of the bases from which Fortuny’s Orientalist works evolved.

The Arab musicians thus participate in the lineage of staged eighteenth-century performances, as well as nineteenth-century Spanish costumbrista tradition, drawing a parallel to those Spanish and French types depicted in the genre paintings of Fortuny’s French contemporary, Édouard Manet. Michael Fried delves into the Manet’s reliance “on subjects of guitarists, dancers, and costumed performers of all kinds,” which he saw “as having received important and perhaps even decisive sanction …that this apparently less than fully serious class of subjects was in fact consistent with the highest artistic purposes and ambitions.”141 In such a

140 On fans in Spain see Zanardi, Framing Majismo, 121.

141 Michael Fried, Manet’s Modernism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 45. 83 way, costumed performers and musicians enabled the elevation of anonymous popular types into paintings of great status and grand scale, which is due, as Zanardi and Klich point out, to the focus on the local that the Realism of these works affords.142 Fried suggests that Manet’s enthusiasm for Spanish subjects in acts of performance, such as his 1860 painting The Spanish

Singer, resulted from “a prior, and more profound, involvement with theatrical subject matter— an involvement whose chief artistic precedent was Watteau”—allowing for the borrowing of theatrical subject matter present in Spanish paintings by Velazquez, and others.143

The back and forth of borrowing and sanctioning Fried is so keen to tease out for his

Francophile purposes helps to establish what is a more useful concept of shared universality upon which historical circumstance prompted the elevation of lower-class subjects. Spain’s prominence as a super power dwindled between the tumultuousness of the Peninsular War and death of Ferdinand VII (reigning in 1808 and 1813-1833) at its beginning and the exile of

Isabella II in 1870, just three years prior to Fortuny’s painting Arab Musicians. Ironically,

Spain’s shrinking empire coincided with the rise of foreign travelers to Andalusia and an increase in Spain’s presence on the international radar as a tourist destination, with colorful typologies such as the gitano/a and torero becoming key actors in the ‘performance’ of

Andalusia. Due to the “frenchification of Spanish culture and thought in the Age of the

Enlightenment and patriotic fervor caused by the War of Independence (1808-1814),” there was a thrust in the mid-nineteenth century for a “rejection of all things foreign.”144 Rising nationalism

142 See Zanardi and Klich, “Introduction,” Visual Typologies.

143 Fried, Manet’s Modernism, 46.

144 Cristina Cruces-Roldán, “Flamenco,” Bloomsbury encyclopedia of popular music of the world. Volumes VIII-XIV, Volume 11, Volumes VIII-XIV, Volume 11, eds. Paolo Prato, David Horn, and John Shepherd (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017), 250. 84 led to the elevation of music of the “common people,” representing a celebrated form of

Spanishness that was in turn adopted into the fashions of the higher classes for which the Spanish guitar was a popular instrument.145 At this moment Spanish visual culture was following currents of “movement from periphery to center,” which Valis aptly points out was “not the imposition of

Madrid’s values and culture on the provinces, but the reverse in the absorption of provincial traits within the capital.”146 Fortuny’s Orientalism is thus, in many ways, a participant in bringing the marginal to the mainstream. The local typologies of Andalusia, including those with

Moroccan subjects, took on the characterization of Spain, and were, in turn, looked to as sources for inspiration by painters like Fortuny and Manet as defining subjects of modern art.

The connection between theatricality and modernity of Arab Musicians provides a fresh revision of Said’s interpretation of the Orientalist stage. The morphing of costumbrista iconography with images of Moorish history that simultaneously obscure all reference to time and place breaks down the rigid distinctions between self and Other that Orientalism, as distinguished by Said, imposes on a European audience and its non-Western subjects of painting.

Fortuny’s utilization of the Orientalist stage at once participates in a modern mode of painting anonymous subjects, codified by their performance of generalized identity, while unraveling the rich history of a region with borders that were never truly defined. The elevation of the subjects of local Andalusian culture—the very ones that connected Spain to its Moorish past and designation as a society in decline—to the status of the denizens of centralized capital of Madrid in turn modernized the perception of Spanishness. The circuitous oscillations between

145 Cruces-Roldán, “Flamenco,” 251.

146 Valis, The Culture of Cursilería, 22. 85 past/future, local/international, and modern/traditional in Fortuny’s Andalusian paintings describe the paradox that is at its essence Spanish modernity: “the feeling of being caught in between two ways of existence.”147

147 Ibid., 9.

Conclusion: Fortuny in Legacy, between Then and Now

Fortuny’s untimely death in 1874 due to an unexpected bout with malaria was a major heartbreak to the art world that shook the artist’s friends and followers. Davillier recalls, “The news of the death of the great artist was a thunderbolt in the city [Rome]. He was so beloved that no one could believe in such a loss.”148 Several sales following Fortuny’s death, including one in

Rome of the content of his studio—furniture, arms, Venetian glass, and embroideries—and one in Paris of unfinished paintings, studies, watercolors, and drawings, yielded net proceeds of

830,00 francs.149 Though Fortuny was already an international icon, the dissemination of his works after his death expanded to significant lengths the reach of both his work and the magnificent world in which he lived.

Fortuny’s commercial success in the final years of his life and the reverberation of his celebrity thereafter led to the rise in so-called Fortunyism, as well as the craze for and copying of his preciosismo style of painting, revival of rococo subjects, and elevation of the decorative and

Oriental elements. Four years after his death, at the 1878 Universal Exposition in Paris,

Fortuny’s brother-in-law Ricardo de Madrazo exhibited Fortuny’s work to the great pleasure of an international audience. The accompanying publication, Les Merveilles de l'Exposition de

1878, describes the scene:

It is much by his death that Spain shines at the Gallery of Fine Arts. First of all, there are about thirty paintings by Fortuny, a painter kidnapped young by art and, although famous, almost unknown to the French public, if not by the exhibitions of the house of Goupil. Fortuny is there, and the crowd is crowded around these charming canvases, illuminated by the warm light of Spain, Morocco, and the Orient. We admire, — and yet

148 Davillier, Life of Fortuny, 193-194.

149 Ibid., 216. 87

how much infatuation is less great today, how many unintelligent copyists of the young master have wronged him by accentuating his faults, which was much easier than imitating his so great qualities! Here is the le Retire, la Posada, la Fountaine arabe, les Charmeurs; here is the la Répétition de la Comédie which always seduces, but which must not be examined too closely. What color! What light!—What a pity that there is such a great abuse sometimes!150

This observer at the Paris Universal Exposition, though clearly a Fortuny enthusiast, foresees what would be in following decades a drastic fall in the popularity of both Fortunyism and the artist himself. The overexuberant style of Fortuny copyists that the passage above describes indeed led to the affiliation of decadence with the work of the once leading Spanish artist hailed for his virtuosity. In 1909, Christian Brinton of the Hispanic Society of America grouped Fortuny with those Spanish artists who contributed to the denigration of Spain’s reputation in the arts:

There had been a few worthy pioneers such as Alenza and López, but they were unable to rescue art from the course whence it had aimlessly meandered after the death of Goya. The debased Davidism of José de Madrazo, the facile, sparkling bric-à-brac of Fortuny, and the theatric naturalism of Pradilla and Casado del Alisal had successively vitiated the Peninsular taste almost beyond redemption, and nothing less racial or less replete with reality than the canvases of Sorolla, Zuloaga, Bilbao, and Anglada could possibly have revived the esthetic prestige of the country as a whole.151

Fortuny’s Orientalist works were among those pictures known for their “sparkling bric-à-brac” within his oeuvre that Brinton and many others cast aside for its associations with femininity, a topic Reyero discusses at length. Intimacy, evoked by the small nature of Fortuny’s watercolors,

150Les merveilles de l'Exposition de 1878: histoire, construction, inauguration, description dé taillé e des palais, des annexes et des parcs (Paris: Librairie contemporaine, 1879), 255.

151 Christian Brinton, Catalogue of paintings by Ignacio Zuloaga: Exhibited by the Hispanic Society of America March 21 to April 11, 1909, (New York: The Hispanic Society of America, 1909), 25. 88 and pleasure, especially “of being surrounded by exquisite objects,” were traits affiliated with the

“beautiful half of the human race,” or, in other words, the female sphere.152 “Fortuny became a show for little women,” especially those of “a certain economic level, in many new rich cases, for whom culture was internalized as a sign of distinction and sensitivity, inseparable from its social category and its femininity.”153 Reyero’s apt observations demonstrate that just as

Orientalism was cast aside for indulging in the pleasures of exoticism, so were small scaled objects and delicately painted watercolors for similar reasons. The decorative elements within

Fortuny’s paintings that this thesis suggests held strong affiliations to dominant nationalism and the bourgeois class were subsequently diminished for their decadence.

The three chapters of this thesis have subtly addressed the feminization and subsequent fall out of fashion of Fortuny by looking at the artist’s interaction with the Oriental world.

Chapter 1 argued that it was, in fact, something very much within the male sphere—the Hispano-

Moroccan War of 1859-1860—that introduced Fortuny to the subject matter that inspired his

Moroccan works. Chapter 2 looked at specific representations of masculinity to explore how national discourse imbued the understanding of self and Other, with the portrayal of the Islamic decorative arts an assertion of power and dominance. Chapter 3 considered Fortuny’s use of primarily male typologies to represent how local scenes deemed somewhat frivolous, and affiliated with the rococo era of the century prior, actually came to encompass the performance of Spain that worked to romanticize its image while simultaneously modernizing the nation because international tourists visited to consume that image.

152 Reyero, Fortuny, 219.

153 Ibid., 222-223. 89

The Prado’s monographic exhibition in 2017 was hailed as a comeback for Fortuny by critics, many of whom were quick to mention that the Catalan artist had been almost entirely forgotten outside of Spain. Adrian West in the London Review of Books opens his review with,

“Few painters have seen their reputations rise and fall as dramatically as Mariano Fortuny y

Marsal.” West continues, “Fortuny’s work is now little remembered outside his native Spain, and is missing from most major surveys of European art. His entry in the Historical Dictionary of the

Catalans consists of only three lines: he ‘produced paintings on Oriental themes.’”154 But the

Prado’s exhibition likely resulted from the revival of Fortuny over the course of the last decade in academic scholarship, in which Hispanists have discovered how the artist occupied a space representative of fascinating historical, cultural, and political movements that had until recently been left unexplored. This thesis, which explores the specificities of a Catalan artist working with Moroccan subject matter in the 1860s and 70s, aims to supplement the work of these scholars who together aim to deconstruct the monolithic genre of Orientalism.

With this thesis and the work of other scholars resituating the relevancy of Fortuny’s work to contemporary discourse, there is ample room in scholarship to address how the very reasons Fortuny fell out of favor were also those that had a major impact on Spanish modern art.

The decorative decadence of Fortuny’s Orientalism paired with the populist subjects of his oil paintings, water colors, and drawings and the supposedly reductive qualities of the paintings of his followers may have been cast aside at the turn of the twentieth century, but their short-lived prominence had resounding effects on the arts in Spain from Joaquín Sorolla to Salvador Dalí.

The case of Fortuny is one that demonstrates how Orientalism, when localized, is not a

154 Adrian West, “At the Prado,” London Review of Books 40, no. 4 (February, 22 2018): 39, https://www.lrb.co.uk/v40/n04/adrian-west/at-the-prado 90 standalone blip in the artistic history of a culture but a genre intricately interwoven into a nation’s political and sociological landscape.

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Illustrations

Figure 1. Mariano Fortuny, Self-portrait, ca. 1858. oil on canvas; 62.5 x 49.5 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya. 96

Figure 3. Mariano Fortuny, Muslim-style decoration, 1860-1862. Watercolor on paper. 15.5 x 17.5cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya.

Figure 4. Mariano Fortuny, Battle of Tetuan, 1863-1865, oil on canvas, 300 x 972 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art d’Catalunya.

Figure 5. Horace Vernet, Capture of the Smala of Abdelkader, May 16, 1843, 1844, oil, 480 x 2130 cm. Paris, Musée de l’Histoire de France.

Figure 6. Mariano Fortuny, An Arabic Man Keeping Watch Over the Dead Body of His Friend, 1866, etching on paper, 44.5 × 61.7 cm. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

100

Figure 7. Mariano Fortuny, Dead Kabyle, ca. 1867 (published 1878), etching on paper, 42.5 × 63 cm. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

101

Figure 8. Mariano Fortuny, A Partly Naked Man on the Ground Right Arm Outstretched, ca. 1860-1870, etching on japan paper, 24.5 × 32.7 cm. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. 102

Figure 9. Eugène Delacroix, Death of Sardanapalus Salon, 1827, oil on canvas, 3.92 x 4.96 m. Paris, Musée du Louvre.

103

Figure 10. Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes, If he is Guilty, Let Him Die Quickly, 1778-1818 (published 1859), etching on paper, 11.5 x 8.5 cm. London, British Museum. 104

Figure 11. Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes, The Custody is as Barbarous as the Crime, 1778-1818 (published 1859), etching on paper, 11 x 8.5 cm. London, British Museum. 105

Figure 12. Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes, The Custody of a Criminal Does Not Call for Torture, c. 1810-1812 (published 1859), etching on paper, 37.78 x 42.33 cm. London, British Museum.

106

Figure 13. Eugene Fromentin, Land of Thirst, 1869, oil on canvas, 103 x 143 cm. Paris, Musée d'Orsay.

107

Figure 14. Moliné y Albereda. Fortuny dressed as an Arab, ca. 1860, photograph. Museu de Reus.

108

Figure 15. Mariano Fortuny, African Chief, 1870, oil on canvas, 41 x 32.9 cm. Chicago, Art Institute of Chicago.

109

Figure 16. Mariano Fortuny, The Carpet Seller, 1870, watercolor with touches of tempera on paper, 59 x 85 cm. Barcelona, Montserrat Museum.

110

Figure 17. Mariano Fortuny, Arab Leaning against a Tapestry, 1873, oil on canvas, 49 x 75 cm. Doha, National Collection of Qatar. 111

Figure 18. Ricardo de Madrazo, The Studio of Marià Fortuny in Rome, 1874, oil on canvas, 100 x 75.4 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya. 112

Figure 19. Jean-Léon Gérôme, The Snake Charmer, 1879, oil on canvas, 82.2 x 121 cm. Williamstown, MA, Clark Art Museum.

113

Figure 20. Mariano Fortuny, Hindu Snake Charmers, 1869, oil on canvas, 58.74 x 124.46 cm. Baltimore, Walters Art Museum.

Figure 21. Anonymous, Studio of Mariano Fortuny y Marsal, via Flaminia, Rome, 1870, print of albumen paper, 25 x 72 cm. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France.

114

Figure 22. Mariano Fortuny, Opium Smoker, 1869, watercolor on paper, 38.4 x 49.8 cm. Saint Petersburg, The State Hermitage Museum. 115

Figure 23. Mariano Fortuny, Saint Andrew (copy after Ribera) ca. 1867, oil on canvas, 80.5 x 65.5 cm. Madrid, Museo del Prado.

116

Figure 24. Mariano Fortuny, Nude Old Man in the Sun, 1871, oil on canvas, 76 x 60cm. Madrid, Museo del Prado. 117

Figure 25. Mariano Fortuny, Faithful Friends, 1869, watercolor on paper, 14 x 19 cm. Baltimore, Baltimore Art Museum.

118

Figure 26. Manuel Wssel de Guimbarda, Costumbrista Scene in the Alcázar of Seville, 1872, oil on canvas, 84 x 63 cm. Madrid, Colección Carmen Thyssen-Bornemisza.

119

Figure 27. Mariano Fortuny, La Tribunal de la Alhambra, 1871, oil on canvas, 75 x 59 cm. Figueres, Dalí Theatre-Museum. 120

Figure 28. Mariano Fortuny, Slaying of the Abencerrajes, c. 1871, oil on canvas, 73 x 83 cm. Barcelona, Museu d’Art Modern de Barcelona. 121

Figure 29. Mariano Fortuny, Arab Musicians, c. 1872, oil on canvas, 61 x 100 cm. Venice, Museo Fortuny. 122

Figure 30. John Frederick Lewis, “Distant view of the Sierra Nevada,” 1836, lithograph, 36.2 x 26.1 cm. In John Frederick Lewis, Sketches of Spain and Spanish Character (London: F.G. Moon and John F. Lewis, 1836). San Francisco, CA, Fine Arts Museums of San Fransisco, Achenbach Foundation for Graphic Arts. 123

Figure 31. Mariano Fortuny, “Two characters in front of the door of a temple,” Album Fortuny Mariano 5, Folio 25, undated, brown ink, 87 x 113mm. Paris, Musée du Louvre, collection of drawings and miniatures. 124

Figure 32. Henri Regnault, Execution without Trial under the Moor Kings of Granada, 1870, oil on canvas, 301 x 143 cm. Paris, RMN-Grand Palais (Musée d'Orsay). 125

Figure 33. Édouard Manet, Dead Toreador, 1864, oil on canvas, 75.9 x 153.3 cm. Washington, D.C., National Gallery of Art. 126

Figure 34. Mariano Fortuny, Gypsy Girl Dancing in a Garden, c. 1872, oil on canvas, 46 x 56 cm. Private collection.

127

Figure 35. Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez, The Three Musicians, c. 1618, oil on canvas, 88 x 111cm. Berlin, Gemäldegalerie der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin. 128

Figure 36. Mariano Fortuny, La Vicaria, 1868-1870, oil on board, 60.5 x 94.5 cm. Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya.

129

Figure 37. Mariano Fortuny, “Fan with scene of gallantry,” 1870, gouache on parchment and mother-of-pearl sticks, 27 x 51 cm (open). Barcelona, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya.